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From Stereograph, Copyright igo2, by Underioood &= Underivood. 

ST. PIERRE, FROM ITS ROADSTEAD, MONT PELEE IN THE DISTANCE. 

As it appeared before the eruption of May 8, 1902. 


THE PROPHET 
OF MARTINIQUE 


A Love Story 


EMBRACING A VIVID ACCOUNT OF THE 
HISTORIC DESTRUCTION BY MONT PELEE 


BY 


LYDIA WHITAKER 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW YORK 

J. S. BARCUS COMPANY 


LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

APR 16 1906 



Copyrighted 1906 
by 

J. S. BARCUS COMPANY 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Light and Shadow 5 

II. The Twins i8 

III. The New Tutor 22 

IV. The Picnic 32 

V. The Breath of Mont Pelee 53 

VI. Home Again 62 

VII. Interlude 77 

VIII. Mirianette and Vevine 82 

IX. The Garden of Eden 92 

X. Meddling With Cupid’s Affairs 108 

XI. “ De Man ob de Fambly ” 117 

XII. The Maniac of St. Pierre 135 

XIII. Asleep i54 

XIV. Good Friday 167 

XV. The Demon of Mont Pelee 180 

XVI. The Voice of Warning 195 

XVII. Madame Fails to Think of a Plan 207 

XVIII. Joan Talks 213 

XIX. His Last Card 225 

XX. Joan Acts 235 

XXL The Death-Bed Confession 243 

XXH. The Fatal Morning 248 

XXIII. For Love’s Sake 257 

XXIV. A Perilous Voyage 266 

XXV. Reunion 274 

XXVI . The Shadow Lifts 282 

XXVH. Three Conversations 293 

XXVIII. Cuba Libre 299 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


' PAGE 

St. Pierre, from its roadstead: Mont Pelee in the distance. .Frontispiece 

Mirianette (A Carrier Girl) 2 

Eugene Petit “and His Fair English Bride” 2 

Vevine. “Pse so tired” 2 

Joan. “I guess, young missy, yo’ hab nebe’ seed so much ugliness 

in one bunch afo’ in yo’ life” 2 

Dr. Victor La Terrette. - - - the daughter of one of the 
richest men of Martinique; Heloise — with her beauty and vivacity 
—should not be allowed to marry a poor physician 3 

“ Edward.” “ — please don’t ask me to go!” 3 

Madame Petit. - - - the days full of a new trouble to 

Madame, - -- 3 

Captain “John.” “Pve put in for repairs” 3 

Heloise and Violet. - - - Dr. La Terrette was struck with 

the picture they made, -- - L.. 4 

“SiVeste.” “Nawi yo’ mus’ jes mak yo’ own chance ” 4 

Louis Cordot. “Pd rather tackle a jungle tiger” 4 

Mr. Allison. “ But I wish to speak to you particularly concerning 

the kind of reading matter you wish put into your son’s hands ” 4 

Mont Pelee, from bridge over the Capot River 12 *^ 

, The Dead City (St. Pierre), from the Boulevard to Orange Hill I4O 

Prayer Hill, Calvary 188 

Roxelane River and Valley 204 

The Cemetery 252 

Statue of Empress Josephine, Fort de France 284 

Market Place, Fort de France 3OO ^ ' 




TTie Prophet of Martinique 


DRAMATIS PERSONAE 


EDWARD PETIT 

M. Eugene Petit 

Dr. Victor La Terrette .... 

Mr. Allison- 

“Captain John” Martin 

Louis Cordot 

Dr. Gratoit 

Dr. Bentley 

Gerard .... . . . 

TP, 1 SiVeste ) 

The Twins. C 

Conrad ) 

Mary Petit 

Madame Petit 

Heioise 

Mrs. Newton • 

Joan . • • ‘ • 

Mirianette ) 

Vevine - • ) 


The Prophet of Martinique” 

Edward’s father 

Edward’s physician 

Edward’s tutor 

“An old sea dog” 

An imposter 

- - The old family physician 

A specialist 

A gardener 

“Canotie” boys 

Edward’s mother 

Edward’s stepmother 

Edward’s halfsister 

Edward’s grandmother 

Edward’s nurse 

Carrier girls 


Olice • • Queen of the washerwomen 

Lizette - . Mother of the twins 

VIOLET ALLISON The tutor’s daughter 

Mme. La Terrette, Mme. Bethune, Alfonse Bethune, Felice 
Father Mary, M. Gounod, M. Fenlon, M. Bouidnot 
and others. 



M I R I A N ET T E { page 82). 

EUGENE PpyriT and “ his fair Plnglish bride 
(Page I J. 


VEVINE ( page 84). 


JOAN (Page 7). 


Copyi'ight., igoj, by J. S. Ba7-cus Co. 

DR. VICTOR LA TP:RRETTE, “EDWARD,” 

Edward’s Physician (page q2 ). Tlie Prophet of Martinique (page 124), 



MADAME PETIT 
(page 113)- 


CAPTAIN “JOHN” 
(page 274}. 


Copyright^ by J. S. Barctts Co. 

SI’VESTE (page 117 }. 

UEI.OISE (Page 174). 

VIOLET (page 174) 

LOUIS CORDOI MR. ALLISON, Edward’s Tutor 

(page gS J. {page 32). 



THE 


PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


CHAPTER I 

LIGHT AND SHADOW 

V ERY picturesque beneath the southern sun lay 
terraced St. Pierre of ocean-circled Martinique 
on the day that Eugene Petit brought home his 
fair English bride. These two had embarked for 
Martinique with very different feelings. He was com- 
ing back to the land of his birth and the home of his 
ancestors; back to the friends of his childhood, who 
spoke his mother tongue. She was leaving home and 
native land and coming to the far western island with 
vague foreboding. It held a people strange to her, who 
spoke not her beloved English; it was in the dreaded 
southern clime ; it was a fragment from that far west- 
ern world that to her represented all that was crude 
and rough, hard and savage in living; it was such a 
tiny speck on her map ; it seemed so far, far away ; so 
far from England, home and mother. And she was 
only nineteen ! And yet despite all this she was doing 
5 


6 


THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


what woman has been doing since Rebekah said, *'1 
will go,” with usually the result that some “Isaac was 
comforted.” 

But as the ship neared the Island of Martinique, the 
young wife exclaimed, “Oh, Eugene, you didn’t tell 
me what a veritable Eden spot your Martinique is! 
At home, winter still lingers ; but here, it is spring. Or 
is it summer?” 

home” he replied, with meaning emphasis on 
the two words, waving his hand toward St. Pierre, “it 
is always spring and summer. We know not winter’s 
cold and snow.” 

“Does it never snow here ?” 

“My dear Marie,” that was his rendering of the good 
old English name Mary, “if a snow should fall in St. 
Pierre, the good people would piously cross themselves 
and await the end.” 

“I am glad they are a pious people, Eugene,” and 
she did not see the smile on her husband’s face, for her 
eyes were fixed on the town of St. Pierre stretching 
down to the water’s edge, a queen of the island, her 
feet laved by the blue waters of the ocean, and her head 
nestling amid the wonderful green of tropical gar- 
dens. 

“How different, Eugene, how very different!” 

“What is different, my dear?” 

“St. Pierre. So different from anything in England, 
and — and so different from what I had pictured.” 

“You are not disappointed, Marie?” 

“No! It is more beautiful than I thought. I like 


LIGHT AND SHADOW 


7 


the bright colors of the buildings set in the green of 
the island, the blue of the sky, and the bluer blue of the 
sea/' 

In the early days that followed, she did not tire of 
roaming the town with Eugene, inspecting its wonders. 
It was so new to her, so quaint, so charming. They 
explored the narrow, crooked, but picturesque streets, 
she admired some of the fine old residences set in the 
beauty and luxuriance of tropical gardens. The col- 
lege, the cathedral, the public hall, — every spot was 
of interest to her. 

Not the least interesting feature of St. Pierre was 
its inhabitants, mostly of African blood, of all shades 
of color from black to what in the Caucasian we call 
creamy brunette. To be sure, she shrank a little when 
she faced the household servants in her husband’s 
house, and she unconsciously drew a little nearer to 
him. It had not occurred to her that they would be 
black; and she was half frightened at the array of 
dusky faces and gleaming eyeballs, and found no word 
to say, though Eugene paused, evidently expecting her 
to speak. Then it was that Joan for the first time, as 
she often did afterwards, came to her new mistress’s 
aid. Joan was a tall young mulattress, with big lips, 
but otherwise rather good features, and a perpetual 
gleam of merriment playing about her large bright 
eyes and lighting up her face. Taking one step for- 
ward she curtsied, and with a wave of the hand to in- 
clude herself and all the other servants, she said, “I 


8 


THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


guess, young missy, yo’ hab nebe’ seed so much ugli- 
ness in one bunch afo’ in yU life.’^ 

Joan’s laugh was something good to hear. It made 
you feel that for one dusky individual at least, life 
was worth the living. And its contagion was ir- 
resistible. So in the laugh with which Joan closed this 
remark, mistress and servants joined. Then turning to 
her master with another curtsey, Joan went on, ‘‘And 
I’s mighty sa’tain dese po’ da’kies nebe’ befo’ seed so 
much pu’tiness done up in one little white an’ yalleh 
bundle as de new missy.” 

Joan’s freedom of speech and hearty laugh had re- 
moved the young mistress’s feeling, half fright, half 
aversion, and quickly asking of her husband Joan’s 
name, she said, “I thank you, Joan.” Then to all, “I 
have been accustomed all my life to servants with white 
faces, but that doesn’t matter. I only want servants 
with white hearts, and I can see through your eyes that 
your hearts are white.” 

Young Mme. Petit had a rare smile. This she 
bestowed on each dusky face down the line as she made 
this speech. From that hour not a servant but would 
almost have died for her. And from that hour she 
took pleasure in studying the mixed population of Mar- 
tinique, from the human, as well as the picturesque 
standpoint. She would go to the public square and 
there watch with childish interest the flow of humanity. 
The black faces, the loose attire of the women, the 
head-dresses, the bright colors, all helped to make it a 
novel scene to her. 


LIGHT AND SHADOW 


9 


With great zest and enjoyment she made trips to 
points of interest on the island outside of St. 
Pierre. They ascended the slopes of cloud capped 
Pelee and gained some wondrous views. It was a 
glorious day, and Marie, impressed with the intense 
blue of the sky and the “light that lay o'er land and 
sea," declared Martinique was the Western Italy. This 
she oft repeated as they visited many a beautiful spot 
in the hills. 

With the interest that the English, above all other 
people, have in places connected with persons of note, 
Marie stood long before the little low house that stands 
on the estate where Empress Josephine, the wife of the 
great Napoleon, was born. 

But her strongest interest and greatest delight cen- 
tered in their own home, a fine old house of stone, only 
glimpses of which could be gained from the avenue, 
so embowered was it in a magnificent garden. The 
luxuriance of foliage and the brilliancy and wealth of 
bloom were a source of delight and wonder to Marie. 

“In England," she said one day, “we have beauti- 
ful lawns and parks and gardens, the most beautiful 
in the world, of course! But we don’t have our — our 
conservatories outside." 

Tears came to her eyes when her husband first led 
her to a bower designed for her. Passing through a 
vine-clad doorway, he seated her upon a rustic seat, 
and there directly in front of them were two flower- 
beds, designed, the one on the right in the outline of 
France, the one on the left in the outline of England ; 


10 


THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

between these a pellucid pool, a miniature English 
Channel bridged by a slightly arched trellis covered 
with dainty vines. Just back of these, against a back- 
ground of waving palms, were two large trellises on 
which flowering vines were so trained as to make, at 
the left, the flag of England, at the right, the banner 
of France. In the flower-beds was a plant, loseille- 
bois, whose open blossom resembled a butterfly, but 
whose closed bud resembled a two-valved shell of dainty 
pink and white. When Eugene pronounced its strange 
Creole name, Marie said, “No, Eugene, my tongue 
is English. I shall call it shell-butterfly.’’ 

“I should have liked European flowers in the beds,” 
said Eugene, “fleur-de-lis and roses; but the fleur-de- 
lis I gave up long ago for this clime, and the gardener 
is still coaxing the roses, but will probably not persuade 
them to grow unless he takes them up on the moun- 
tains.” 

“Dear England, land of roses,” she said, “I thought 
when I left her no land could be so fair; but I know, 
Eugene, I shall love your mountainous, tropical Mar- 
tinique.” 

Thus for many a bright day she reveled in all the 
novelty and pleasure of her new life and then — the 
blight fell! The southern clime tainted her northern 
blood. The English roses left her cheek. Her step 
lost its elasticity and her eye its sparkle. She drooped 
and grew homesick, so homesick for dear old England. 
She no longer found pleasure in the rank exuberance 
of tropical vegetation, but longed for the English 


LIGHT AND SHADOW 


II 


heath and moor. She tired of the stately palm, the 
giant bamboo and tree fern and longed for the hare- 
bell and heather. She tired of the brilliant lianas, with 
their wealth of crimson, yellow, blue and white bloom, 
and yearned for the daintier cowslip and daisy of the 
English meadow. The bright days with their blue, 
blue skies no longer delighted her. She was soul- 
weary, alike with the glare of the southern sun and 
the downpour of the southern rain, and would have 
welcomed a fine drizzle or a genuine London fog. She 
sickened of the ceaseless southern summer and longed 
with intensity for a crisp frost or a snow-fall. All 
the vague dread she had felt of Martinique before 
her coming, and which had vanished in those first 
happy, healthy days, returned, now that she was ill, 
in more definite form. The many dark faces about 
her and the ceaseless jangle of the French tongue be- 
came terrible to her and she yearned, with a yearning 
unspeakable, to be surrounded with fair faces, to look 
into blue eyes and hear the blessed notes of her mother 
tongue. She feared the terrible fever that had attacked 
some of the poor in the closer, unhealthier lower town. 
She had a terror of the deadly serpents, such as were 
never seen in England. She had an ever growing 
dread of Mont Pelee, whose verdure-clad slopes were 
as familiar to the older inhabitants of St. Pierre as 
a friend’s face, and inspired no more terror; but on 
her they frowned in a threatening way. She had a 
deadly fear of the hurricanes that sometimes swept 
that region; and when one day but a slight wind- 


12 


THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


storm arose, she was in great terror. Joan was her 
Job’s comforter, saying, “La, Missy honey, dat’s nuffin 
to what we does hab sometimes. Dis hain’ no hur- 
ricum. Hurricums, dey’s big storms what in some 
places dey calls syclomes, what picks up houses and 
sets ’em clean obe’ on de nex’ block, an’ sometimes 
blows de kinks out ob de da’keys’ wool !” 

At this Joan went off into a peal of laughter, but 
it was no longer contagious to her frail mistress, so 
in a sympathetic tone she went on, “But la, Missy 
honey, yo’ needn’t be ’fraid, de Holy Modder’ll sure 
pertect yo’ an’ keep yo’ safe.” 

But in her present nervous state, not even the faith 
of her childhood could comfort Marie, and that night 
she dreamed that a cyclone arose from the crater of 
Mont Pelee, swept down upon St. Pierre with terrible 
violence, and tore her husband from her side as they 
sat in her favorite seat facing the floral flags of France 
and England, and swept away the miniature France 
and the French flag. She screamed as she saw them 
disappearing and her husband’s voice called back to 
her from the storm, “Marie!” Then a second blast 
swept down from the mountain and uprooted the blos- 
soms from one corner of her miniature England. She 
screamed again and wakened to find the sun had risen 
on a new bright day in St. Pierre, and her husband, 
already dressed, was standing over her saying, “Marie 
dear, did you have a bad dream?” 

“Oh yes, such a dreadful dream! I thought — ” 

“Never mind until you’ve dressed and gone out into 



From Stereograph, Copyright iqo2, by Ufidcr^vood &= Underwood, 


MONT PELEE IN ERUPTION. 
From the bridge over the Capot River. 




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LIGHT AND SHADOW 


13 

this beautiful morning. Then we’ll hear about your 
dream.” 

He led her to their favorite seat and said, “Now 
watch the sun slowly drive the shadow back from 
Mont Pelee, until its southern slope is bathed in light.” 

But the very sight of Mont Pelee brought back the 
horror of her dream, and clinging to her husband with 
hysteric weeping, she told her dream and all her ter- 
rible fears. He soothed her as if she were a frightened 
child and tried to allay her fears: “Does my little 
Marie no longer love her Western Italy?” 

“Italy has its Vesuvius,” she replied, “and once had 
its Pompeii. Oh Eugene, I have a terror of that great 
dark mountain with its pent-up fires !” 

“That is all fancy, my dear. See, Mont Pelee stands 
there like a great, kind sentinel guarding the town, as 
silent and harmless as your native hills.” 

“But, Eugene, there have been eruptions of Mont 
Pelee. Joan told me of an awful eruption only twenty- 
five or thirty years ago.” 

“Yes, there is a story of that kind. It is said that 
Mont Pelee made some demonstration in the year ’51. 
That was — let me see — about twenty-eight years ago. 
I remember nothing of it, though I was then five years 
old. Joan’s superstition and love of the marvelous 
caused her to exaggerate it. I’ve no doubt. Besides, 
Joan could not remember it, you know; and must 
take the floating story, as she cannot read. I believe 
Mont Pelee smoked a little at that time. I’ve been 
half inclined to consider it only a negro fabrication. 


14 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

In fact, Tve given it very little thought. I assure 
you it was nothing. My little wife is surely not go- 
ing to allow a dream and a superstitious negress’s 
story to make her unhappy.’’ 

Eugene, I know you think I am foolish and 
childish !” 

''No Marie, I only think you are not well. When 
you are strong we will go to the top of Mont Pelee 
and see how silent and harmless its dead crater is.” 

"Oh no, do not ask me ever to go there! And 
promise me, Eugene, that you will never go to that 
terrible spot 1” 

"Well, well dear, I will never go while you feel so 
about it. And now let us talk of other things. When 
you are strong, I will take you back to England for 
a long, long visit. — The doctor thinks we would bet- 
ter not try the voyage now. — I am rich, Marie, and I 
know not what it is for except to make you happy. 
We will stay in England until you are homesick for 
Martinique.” 

"I can never be homesick for Martinique as long 
as that terrible mountain is here.” 

"Well, then I’ll have it removed,” he said with a 
smile, but her answering smile was only forced. 'T 
notice by the paper,” he went on, "that your friend. 
Lady Rutledge, is in Paris.” 

"Yes, she was intending to — Eugene! Isn’t that 
smoke above Mont Pelee?” 

"No, dear; it is only a cloud.” 

Thus try as he might to change the current of her 


LIGHT AND SHADOW 


IS 


thought, it would ever revert to one subject. Daily 
and hourly her terror of Mont Pelee grew greater, and 
all her fear of other things was over-shadowed and 
swallowed up in her fear of the great, frowning moun- 
tain. She would waken in the night, trembling with 
fear, and beg that someone would look in the direc- 
tion of Mont Pelee and see if all were safe. 

She grew frailer day by day; and when her babe 
with a puny wail opened its big, frightened eyes on 
the world, she knew she had not long to stay, and that 
she would never see dear old England again. All her 
fear and unrest were gone, and she talked calmly to 
Eugene about her going away, and begged him not 
to remember all her childish complaints, but only to 
remember that she had left her friends and all her 
loved ones in her beloved England, and had come with 
him because she loved him. She had no fear of death, 
and Eugene’s French cynicism and philosophy with 
which he had encased himself against the faith of his 
ancestors had the greatest shock in years when she 
said, “I regret to leave you and the little one, Eugene, 
but I do not fear to die. I dreamed last night that 
the Holy Mother came down and carried me in her 
arms to her own dear Son. It will be so, Eugene. 
From the fiery trial that leaves to you a son, I shall 
journey straight to a better land than England. Tell 
my mother that. Now lift me up a little, that I may 
look at calm old Mont Pelee once more. There is 
no fear now. See! The sunset light gilds its top 
like a benediction. Bury me here in the shadow of 


1 6 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


Mont Pelee. I had thought to be taken to England, but 
I would not have it so now. My boy will like to be 
near his mother’s grave. And now let me see him.” 

Joan brought the babe in. The saddest face in the 
world is that face where a look of sorrow replaces 
the habitual look of merriment. Such was Joan’s face 
as she brought in the baby. Marie placed her hand 
on the tiny head with these words: “May the Holy 
Mother and all the blessed saints guard and keep my 
dear son.” Then after a pause, “Eugene, you will 
christen him Edward, for him who will one day, I 
hope, be England’s king.” After another pause, “Joan, 
you will help to take care of my boy; be as good to 
him as you have been to me and help to teach him to 
love his mother’s country and his mother’s religion.” 

Joan, with tears streaming down her face, said, “Oh, 
no ! Brack Joan hain’ fit to teach de little white che’ub 
anyting. But de Holy Mudde’ an’ all de bressed saints 
hab hea’d yo’s praye’ an’ dey’ll ten’ de little wee lamb 
deir own selbes. But Missy honey, Joan’s brack arms 
am strong an’ he’ hea’t am big, an’ de bressed little 
Edwa’d ’ll nebe’ need fur nuffin ’at Joan could do fur 
’im.” 

And if you are familiar with negro character, you 
will believe from that hour, for that little bundle of 
humanity in her arms, Joan would have laid down her 
life. 

At dawn of the next day the fair young mother 
closed her tired eyes on earth ; and the servants sobbed 
and wailed ; and the husband sat in stony grief, not as- 


LIGHT AND SHADOW 


17 


suaged by that faith which sees beyond death’s portals ; 
and the infant gave fitful starts in its sleep. Just as 
before, the gauzy humming-birds flitted to and fro, 
the graceful palms swayed, the lilies nodded in the 
breezes, and the heavy-scented jasmine freighted the 
air with perfume. Just as before, the southern sun 
rose bright and clear and the blue waves danced and 
sparkled in the sunlight. On all alike, calm old Mont 
Pelee looked down unmoved. 


CHAPTER II 


THE TWINS 

D own from cloud-capped Mont Pelee, down 
through a deep, wild gorge, dashing over rocks 
and cascading over ledges, hiding itself amid 
great boulders, then reappearing far below; on, mid 
the giant bamboo and tree-fern, ^neath streaming lianas, 
down by yellow cane fields and between green mornes, 
dashing and foaming over its stony bed, the Riviere 
Roxelane carried its pure cold waters into the City of 
St. Pierre and on to the sea. 

It was morning, faint, fair, early morning. The 
pale dawn was creeping up from the sea, but all the 
course of the Roxelane yet lay in shadow. Long be- 
fore the tardy sun rose on St. Pierre, before the criers 
were heard in the streets, when the first venders were 
coming into the market-place, the washerwomen, bare- 
footed, bearing the bundles of soiled linen on their 
heads, descended the rocky bank below the old bridge 
to wash their linen in the Roxelane’s pure flood. Two, 
four, eight, a dozen! Still they came! Black, most 
of them, strong, lithe, erect, descending with elastic 
step until they took their place in the icy stream; and 
soon was heard the slap, slap, that is like no other 

i8 


THE TWINS 


19 

sound, as they beat their linen on the rocks to 
cleanse it. 

“Lizette is late dis mo’nin,’' said the first of the 
long dusky line, a powerful negress, black as ebony, 
who had been the first there and had secured the best 
place, and had insisted on keeping the place next to her 
for Lizette. 

‘‘Yo' sho Lizette gwine to come?’" said her neigh- 
bor. 

“Sa’tain sho, honey. Lizette gwine come,’’ said the 
first. ‘^Ma’am Fabette she am gwine ten* de babes, an* 
I guess Ma*am Petit she glad; she *magine nobody*s 
gwine wash half*s good as Lizette. Reckon she ’magine 
case Lizette*s little white*n us dat she wash clo*s white*. 
It am mighty fine fo* Lizette dat Ma*am Petit*s took a 
notion to he*. SiVest*e, he* old man, doan make nuf- 
fin wid *is canot. He ain* no good canotie* nohow, an* 
dem wid twins to s*port, — Ah, hea* come Lizette!’* 

With long, springy stride, Lizette, a homely brown- 
skinned mulatto, came toward them. A pleasant greet- 
ing for Lizette came from all, and the negress who had 
reserved a place for her called in a tone that sounded 
clear above the noise of her work and the current, 
‘^Come hea, Lizette honey, jes by brack Olice; dat am 
de bes* prace fo* you. Lan* sakes, chile, you’s awful 
late dis mo’nin. W*y Ps mos* half done.** 

Then a long silence, while with wonderful rapidity 
the work went on. The sun was looking down on their 
work now, and the rocks along the water’s edge were 
white with the linen bleaching in the sun ere Olice 


20 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


spoke again. She made not the slightest pause in 
her work as she said, ‘‘I s’pose dem two twins am ’bout 
de fines’ boys in creashun.” 

‘‘Dat’s what dey is,” replied Lizette. 

‘‘Reckon yo’ hain’ foun’ no names good ’nough fur 
’em yet?” 

“La, bress you! Dey’s named,” said Lizette. “De 
brack one he am Si’vest’e fo’ his fadde’. I settle dat 
soon’s I sees ’im. But de odde’ — What you guess, 
Olice, dat odde’ li’le chap got yalle’ hai’ 1” 

“Lan’ sakes! Lizette, yo’ doan mean it!” 

“Sa’tain sho! Yalle’ hai’! Dat hai’ jes’ minded 
me o’ Ed’a’d Petit, so I want to name ’im Ed’a’d fo’ 
dat bressed chile. But Si’vest’e he jes’ won’ hea to it. 
Si’vest’e, you see, he got a prejusie gin dat chile; he 
say he half luney. Dat jes’ like a man! Dey nebe’ 
knows when a chile’s extry sma’t. Now dat Ed’a’d 
Petit, he jes’ de sma’test boy yo’ two eyes ebe’ seed 
fo’ ten yea’ ole! An’ he’s done been to see dem twins 
a’ready, he hab! And he say de yalle’ headed one 
am his’n an’ he want to name ’im ’Poleon. I nebe’ tell 
Si’vest’e what de bressed chile say ’count o’ his pre- 
jusie gin ’im, but I jes’ say to Si’vest’e, ‘Si’vest’e, le’s 
name dis chile ’Poleon,’ and Si’vest’e say right away, 
‘Now you’s talkin’! Dat’s mo’ lak a name. ’Poleon 
wa’ Empress Josephine’s husban’; he wa’ no yalle’ 
headed vagabond.’ So dey am named Si’vest’e an’ 
’Poleon. But lan’ sakes! I’se got wuss behin’ dan 
ebe’ gabblin’.” Then, with a sigh, “Pears lak I gits 
mighty tired dis mo’nin.” 


THE TWINS 


21 


“Well, well chile,” said black Olice, consolingly, 
“ 'specs de las’ half dem clo’s gwine go pow’ful sight 
faste’n de fust.” 

Those who were near enough to hear black Olice’s 
words, divined her purpose, and though not quite so 
black or quite so strong or quite so swift as Olice, queen 
of the washerwomen, their ambition to join her in 
helping the mother of the twins lent a little energy 
and speed to their efforts, as hour after hour they 
stood there with the tropic sun beating down on their 
heads and the cold mountain water running over their 
bare feet, working unceasingly, sometimes in silence, 
sometimes with jest and snatches of song, these toiling, 
struggling, brave, undaunted, kind-hearted blanchis- 
seuses I 


CHAPTER III 


THE NEW TUTOR 

M PETIT, do you not think it is time to pro- 
^ cure a tutor for Edward in English? He 
is now ten years old, and I heard you say 
the other day you expected him some day to make a 
long stay in England.” The speaker, a tall, handsome 
French woman, was M. Petit’s second wife. 

“Why no, Hortense, I had not though of that. You 
are always thinking of things for me. I wish the boy 
to go to England at twelve if his — health will permit. 
I suppose, though, two years is scarcely time to learn 
the language.” 

“Oh yes ! Edward is quick*; I should think he could 
know enough of the language to speak it in two years, 
if an excellent teacher is secured. Edward’s people in 
England are well connected, are they not?” 

“Yes, I believe so, but what has that to do with it?” 
said M. Petit a little impatiently. 

“Oh nothing, only I was thinking that in that case 
it was all the more important to have a first-class 
teacher for him.” 

“More easily said than done, I fancy. Englishmen 
are about as plentiful on this island as icebergs. Shall 
I appeal to the British Consul? So far as my knowl- 


22 


THE NEW TUTOR 


23 


edge goes he is the only Englishman in Martinique. 
And the French-English teachers teach a jargon unin- 
telligible alike to Englishmen and Frenchmen/' 

“Oh, it must be an English-speaking person, of 
course; and equally, of course, he cannot be found in 
Martinique.” 

“And you could scarcely expect one to come all the 
way from England. I suppose we might try Trinidad, 
or some of the other British islands near.” 

“I have thought of a plan. The Marianne is in port ; 
I saw Captain John this morning. He is a man of 
rare good sense. He could easily get us a teacher from 
the United States.” 

“But is not American English very different from 
British English?” 

“Yes; in the lower classes, I understand the dialects 
have drifted very much apart; but Professor Ferine 
says that the language the cultured speak in the two 
countries is practically identical.” 

“But could we trust the judgment of a man of Cap- 
tain John's class?” 

“Well, the queer thing about the United States is 
that they don't seem to stick to their class. And this 
Captain John has a brother who is a professor in one 
of their large colleges. Now if we could secure a per- 
son recommended by that brother, we would be safe.” 

“Yes,” assented Monsieur reluctantly. 

“It must be a man, of course — ” 

“Yes, indeed!” M. Petit broke in with vehemence. 
“We will have no woman' — no American bluestocking.” 


24 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


A look that tried not to be a smile flitted over 
Madame Petit’s face, but she said in the same even 
tone, ‘‘And the money ?” 

“Oh, of course we must offer to pay liberally, if we 
wish to catch an American. Money is their god. They 
educate everybody over there, from the President to the 
boot-black, but they do it not from a love of learning, 
but that they may coin their education into money. 
The rich man in the United States toils harder than any 
slave to add to his riches, seeming to have no enjoy- 
ment but in the getting more and ever more. They 
will do anything for money. Their President himself 
would come over and teach Edward, if we would only 
pay him enough.” This with a sneer. 

Madame again suppressed a smile. Her husband’s 
bitter prejudice against the Americans, which she did 
not in the least share, was one of his weaknesses which 
were to be inwardly smiled at, but never crossed. 
Madame was a shrewd woman, and she was not blind 
to the benefits in many ways that accrued to the West 
Indies from their relation with the United States. But 
such thoughts were not to be voiced in a conversation 
with her husband. So with a smile of assent, she said, 
“No doubt. But you will not bait your hook richly 
enough to catch His Highness, the President. A 
smaller man with perhaps better English will serve your 
purpose as well.” 

M. Petit smiled, highly pleased at this remark. “One 
thing more,” said Madame, hesitatingly, “his religion, 
is that to be considered ?” 


THE NEW TUTOR 


25 


“It matters not to me,” with another sneer, “what 
religion the man have, or whether he have any. Let 
him be Christian, Mohammedan or Jew; I care not, so 
that he say his prayers in good English. But,” after 
a slight pause, “if you very much prefer — ” 

“Oh, no!” said Madame. “In fact, I had made up 
my mind that to put in that qualification would only 
hinder our purpose.” Madame, though a devout Cath- 
olic, kept that always in the background in talking with 
her husband. “He will probably be a Protestant,” she 
went on, “as they are in the majority over there; but I 
agree with you, that good English is the prime essen- 
tial to be sought in Edward’s tutor.” 

“How is the dear boy to-day?” said M. Petit, with a 
shade of anxiety on his face. 

“I regret to say, Eugene, he is not quite so well. I 
allowed Joan to take him and Heloise down to the 
Marianne this morning, he is so fond of Captain John ; 
and perhaps he was tired when they came back, and 
then — ” with extreme hesitation. 

“Well, Hortense, what was it ?” 

“Captain John came back with them and said that he 
feared it was his fault that Edward was — was not well, 
that he, to entertain them, had told them of the blue 
sunset he saw from the Marianne some years ago.” 

“Blue sunset? What nonsense was he talking?” 

“That was what he called it. He said that the sun 
looked blue at setting. And told them of the green 
sunset the next evening, and the marvelous red skies 
after these sunsets. And Edward questioned him so 


26 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


persistently and intelligently that he told him the cause 
as it is now thought.” 

‘‘And pray what cause does this learned man give for 
such remarkable freaks of nature?” 

“That was the year of the eruption of Krakatoa, and 
the volcanic dust in the atmosphere is said to have col- 
ored the sunsets in that strange way. Captain John 
explained all this to me. Fm sure I didn’t know there 
was a Krakatoa. But — Edward still questioned him, 
and so he told them all he had picked up here and there 
about the terrible eruption; and Edward came home 
greatly disturbed — very unwell. And — ” again hes- 
itating, then speaking rapidly as if determined to say 
it through, “Captain John suggested that the subject 
of^ — that exciting subjects ought to be avoided with 
the dear child.” 

Then M. Petit’s anger flashed out. “I need no sug- 
gestion from Captain John, or any other meddlesome 
American about my boy. I believe I have told you, 
Madame Petit, that no subject is to be avoided in the 
child’s presence. He will outgrow that nervousness if 
he is not indulged too much in it. You may tell Cap- 
tain John that he is to answer all of the child’s ques- 
tions without reserve.” 

“No doubt you are right, Eugene, as you always are. 
Now I should have taken just the opposite course, 
shielded the boy from everything of the kind, and thus 
encouraged his weakness, I suppose.” 

“No doubt,” said Monsieur, mollified; but the 
shadow did not lift from his face. “Now I have stayed 


THE NEW TUTOR 


27 


too long already.’^ But he paused on the threshold to 
say, ‘‘Hortense, I am never insensible to the interest 
you take in my son, and all your watchful care of him.” 

A glow of pride o’erspread Madame Petit’s face, and 
she replied, ‘‘Eugene, my interest in our dear boy,” with 
just a little stress on the pronoun, “is not simply from 
a sense of duty; I love the child. He is bright and 
beautiful, he is gentle and sweet ; it is just because he is 
just a little over-sensitive that I give him perhaps more 
care than I do Heloise. Well, I will give Captain John 
your instructions.” 

Accordingly, the next trip the Marianne made to St. 
Pierre, she brought the new tutor, a man, an American, 
and a Protestant. That is, he had been born in the 
United States, his name was on the Presbyterian church 
roll, and he was of the male persuasion. He was 
slender and graceful, was smooth-shaven, had soft, silk- 
en, dark hair, mild gray eyes, and regular, rather pleas- 
ant features. He read German and Latin with ease; 
addressed Madame and Monsieur Petit in tolerable 
French, never obliging them to use English; and spoke 
from the first to the children almost faultless English, 
as Monsieur and Madame afterwards knew. Whether 
he read German or Latin, whether he spoke French or 
English, Mr. Allison’s voice was low and soft, and you 
had only to hear it three times to decide that a tone of 
command was not in its compass. 

The Marianne also brought with Mr. Allison another 
voyager who had not been reckoned on; Violet, Mr. 
Allison’s motherless, six-year-old daughter, a graceful. 


28 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


pretty child, a tiny copy of her father in everything 
except the eyes, great, inquiring, violet eyes. 

It was in a tone of consternation that Madame Petit 
asked her husband that first evening what was to be 
done about the lithe one. 

‘‘Why, Hortense,” he said, “our house is large ; there 
is surely room for one tiny mite more, isn’t there?” 

“Oh, it isn’t that; but I should feel that I had the 
responsibility of another child younger than Heloise, 
and very much a baby. I should feel that those big eyes 
of hers were always asking me what she should do next. 
Besides, although we employ Mr. Allison, he is not ex- 
actly a servant, and could not be treated as such; and 
their exact place in the household would not be easily 
fixed. It would be necessary to give them a separate 
table, or let them dine with us, neither of which is 
convenient.” 

The result of this and much more converse and 
maneuvering on the part of Madame was that M. Petit 
decided that it was his own plan and wish that the new 
tutor have apartments in the LaTerette house just back 
of his own, which was at present occupied by only the 
old housekeeper and her husband, who were very glad 
to add to their small income by taking boarders. The 
grounds of the two buildings were separated only at 
the back of an unused alley. The long neglected gates 
were opened and rehinged, and communication once 
more established between the two houses, whose re- 
spective inmates a generation before had been on the 
most friendly terms. Madame herself went over to see 


THE NEW TUTOR 


29 


that the rooms were aired and comfortable, and im- 
pressed upon Annette, the housekeeper, that Mr, Alli- 
son was a most learned and genteel man, and that little 
Violet was to have very especial care. Then having 
thus freed herself from all responsibility in that di- 
rection, she went home well pleased. 

Mr. Allison from the first asked to have Heloise, as 
well as Edward for a pupil, as it would be easier for 
him to teach two than one, and it would be advanta- 
geous for Edward to have his sister with whom to 
practice his English. Madame readily assented, but 
Heloise was not so easily brought to that point of view. 
Heloise was a very happy little maiden of seven, who, 
to Mr. Allison^s astonishment, had a will of her own, 
and she did not choose to learn English. She said it 
hurt her ears; and it didn’t say anything, anyway; it 
was just a lot of ugly noises. So she proceeded to 
close her ears to it, and to make Edward tell everything 
over to her in French. And as Mr. Allison was totally 
helpless before the little lady’s imperious will, she bade 
fair to be a hindrance instead of a help. But the little 
Violet, who was always with them, was soon able to 
perform in part the office of interpreter, as she picked 
up the French with astonishing rapidity. 

They spent much time out in the open air. It was 
pleasant to see the group ; Mr. Allison, with easy, grace- 
ful pose, in his immaculate attire, smiling benignly on 
the children as he gave freely from his fund of story 
and song; Violet, the prim little maiden, sitting with 


30 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

folded hands, her great, violet eyes turned with ques- 
tioning eagerness upon her father and Edward by 
turns ; Heloise, happy, volatile creature, flitting hither 
and thither, stopping to hear Violet tell over in French 
one of her father’s stories, of which he seemed to have a 
limitless stock, then flitting away to chase a humming- 
bird, to hold her little white hands in the spray from 
the fountain, to look up and laugh back at the parrots 
chattering gaily to each other, to pluck the freshest, 
daintiest blossoms, twine them into a wreath, bring it 
and lay it with gentlest touch on her brother’s head — 
for with Edward she was always gentle — daintily kiss 
his hair, and flit away again ; Edward, sitting in eager 
pose, his yellow hair glinting gold where the sunlight 
filtering through the leaves fell on it, his face aglow, 
his eyes gleaming, as he drank in — with an eagerness 
and alertness older minds never have — the new lan- 
guage which fell so smoothly from Mr. Allison’s lips; 
and Joan, with her bright dress and gay turban hover- 
ing in the near background, watchful to render any 
service to the two little human busy bees and the one 
little human butterfly. 

‘‘Edwa’d do beat all,” Joan confided to the cook one 
day. ‘‘Dat bressed boy am gittin’ so he ken talk dat 
’Merican stuff ’mos as well as Mistah Allison himself. 
He am de ’telligentes boy dese two eyes eber seed, 
sa’tain sho’l Now dat leetle gal wid de big eyes jes 
de colo’ ob de clematis, she am la’nin’ French pow’fu’ 
fas’, dat am fac’. But la! who couldn’t la’n ou’ French? 


THE NEW TUTOR 


31 


It am so plain an’ nat’ral like. But dat oder outlan’ish 
stuff, bress my soul, but it do take mighty pow’fu’ 
un’erstan’in to la’n it, sho’ !” 


CHAPTER IV 


THE PICNIC 

M r. ALLISON had been instructing Edward for 
more than a year, when he one day asked pri- 
vate audience with M. Petit. 

Petit,” he began at once, in his low, soft voice, 
“I can report very remarkable progress on the part of 
your son. He seems to have an unusual aptitude for 
the English language. He can now read English 
almost as well as the average American schoolboy of 
his age, though he has not, of course, so large a spoken 
vocabulary. But his pronunciation is very excellent 
indeed.” 

M. Petit murmured something about being pleased, 
and Mr. Allison went on. ‘‘But I wish to speak to you 
particularly concerning the kind of reading matter you 
wish put into your son’s hands. He has already some 
literary discrimination, so that there is no danger of his 
reading too much trifling matter. In fact, he seems 
inclined to the opposite course. He has a taste for 
reading matter too heavy for his age. Would you 
advise that I make any effort to direct him to lighter 
reading?” 

Monsieur shrugged his shoulders and with a slight 
smile said, “No, I think the child’s taste can be trusted. 


32 


THE PICNIC 


33 

No use to feed the boy on mental milk after he is able 
to digest meat/’ 

The figure pleased Mr. Allison and he could not 
resist pursuing it. “But might not too much meat be 
given him for his digestion ?” 

“No boy chooses to work laboriously. I think the 
boy’s choice of what you call heavy reading shows that 
it is not really heavy for him ; and I wish to have no 
restrictions put upon him in that respect.” 

“Your wish shall, of course, be observed. But there 
is one line on which the boy seems to have the most 
morbid taste. I refer to his thirst for reading descrip- 
tions of horrible disasters, resulting from great move- 
ments of the destructive forces of nature.” 

“Papa,” said a voice at the library door, “may we 
come in ?” Without waiting for reply in walked 
Heloise, leading by the hand Edward, who stopped on 
the threshold when he saw his father was engaged and 
said, apologetically, “We came to ask a favor of you, 
father.” 

Edward’s was a face of rare beauty — an ethereal 
kind of beauty. His black eyes, large and lustrous, 
under arching black eyebrows, looking out with a kind 
of sad, wistful look from a face always pale; the soft 
coils of his yellow hair waving back from his fair 
brow ; the delicate lines of his sweet mouth — ’tis vain ! 
It was not these that made his beauty so much as that 
something from within, which no pen can picture, 
which illumined and spiritualized his face, shone 
through his eyes and softened every line of his sensi- 


34 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

tive and refined features. M. Petit, who was not with 
his children much, felt deeply moved at times by Ed- 
ward’s face. He said, gently, ‘'Come here, Edward, I 
wish to speak to you. Mr. Allison tells me that you are 
learning your English very rapidly, and I am greatly 
pleased. Now, what is it you wish to ask after that?” 

“Joan told me of a spot in the grounds my own 
mother loved so much. I think it must have been very 
beautiful, with the little map of England and France 
and the two flags.” 

“And we want one,” put in Heloise. 

“Yes,” said Edward, “we wanted to ask you if you 
would please tell the gardener to make us one.” 

“You may give the order yourself, Edward. Tell 
him it is to be just as it was eleven years ago.” 

Edward had not time for thanks, his little captor 
hurried him out so quickly to find the gardener. 

Mr. Allison went on as if there had been no inter- 
ruption. “For instance, I notice when Edward is read- 
ing the Bible — ” 

“I did not suppose,” interrupted M. Petit, “that the 
Bible was included in the list of books for his reading.” 

“Yes, one has not a knowledge of English literature, 
in fact, one is not ready to read English literature until 
one has read the Bible.” Not a shade of positiveness 
was in Mr. Allison’s tone, but he said this just as if he 
were stating, to one who didn’t know, a fact which no 
one denied. M. Petit answered only with a shrug of 
the shoulders, and Mr. Allison went on, “I notice he is 
very fond of reading the story of the destruction of 


THE PICNIC 


3S 


Sodom and Gomorrah and all portions that refer to it” 

“And pray, what objection is there to his reading 
that ? It is a matter of history.’' 

“It excites him greatly. He has morbid fancies in 
regard to such things, especially has he in regard to 
volcanoes, and particularly in regard to Mont Pelee. 
It amounts to a disease and might undermine his men- 
tal, as well as his physical, vigor. As he gets all his 
English reading matter through me, St. Pierre furnish- 
ing him none, I could easily guard his reading and see 
that scientific articles and historical writings relating 
to such things do not fall into his hands.” 

“On the contrary,” said Monsieur angrily, “if the 
boy is interested in certain phenomena of nature, even 
though they be violent, will you please see that he is 
furnished with reading on that subject?” 

“But he would spend hours — ” 

“Then let him!” said Monsieur. You understand 
that I will have no restriction put on the boy’s reading.” 

“It shall be as you wish,” said Mr. Allison, without 
the least change of tone, “but it would not be my way. 
Do you mean, then, no restrictions on any subject?” 

“None whatever!” 

“Then it is hardly necessary for me to say what I 
had intended — that next to the subject I have men- 
tioned, Edward is interested in American politics and 
social life. Of course, being an American, I have 
books on these subjects. I had thought you might pre- 
fer that he spend less time in reading about the United 
States and more, perhaps, in reading about France and 


36 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

England/’ This on general principles and without a 
suspicion that he was touching the Frenchman’s strong- 
est prejudice. 

Monsieur would certainly have preferred it, but he 
saw that he was caught. It angered him the more that 
it was in a trap of his own making. He was sure the 
mild, artless Mr. Allison had set none for him, but in 
any event he would not retract. So in the most posi- 
tive tone, he said, ‘T believe you heard what I said, Mr. 
Allison ; the boy is to follow his own taste in reading. 
It will not lead him far astray.” 

‘T think I now understand your wishes perfectly.” 
And Mr. Allison bowed himself out, all unconscious of 
the mental ferment in which he left M. Petit. 

Monsieur paced the floor, glared at the few books on 
the shelves, and muttered, ‘‘So Edward is to go on 
reading his Bible and his American politics at my ex- 
press command! That insipid American! If he had 
really planned to trap me, I should have pitched him 
out at the window ! But I suppose he would have come 
back with his placid look and his exasperating, soft 
tone, and said, ‘I now understand your wish. Monsieur, 
and I am ready to be pitched out every day.’ But he 
couldn’t have planned it; he hasn’t a grain of sense! 
It’s because his head was so empty that he could stuff a 
half dozen languages into it!” 

At this inopportune moment Madame entered, say- 
ing, “I don’t know what is to be done about to- 
morrow’s outing. Monsieur. I had planned for us all 
to go, but Edward refuses to go and — ” 


THE PICNIC 


37 


O frail human nature ! that will ever vent on nearer 
and dearer objects the wrath raised by strangers. “Re- 
fuses to go! My son will not refuse to obey any of 
your commands.” 

Madame saw that she had made a mistake. She 
hastened to say, “I’m sure I used the wrong word. 
Edward does not refuse to go ; he is always most obedi- 
ent to me. But you know the pleasure party is to go 
up the slope of Mont Pelee to the spot we call the 
Verne Grotto, and if the weather is favorable we will 
go on to visit Lake Palmiste, and some of the men ex- 
pect to go to the Dry Lake. Edward has one of his 
nervous attacks and begs to be allowed to stay at home. 
The Persins, the Bethunes and the Montcalms are 
going and I couldn’t ask them now to change the place. 
I suppose I might leave Joan with Edward, though I 
wanted her to go to look after the — ” 

“No, you will leave no one with Edward! You are 
encouraging him in his wilfulness, Hortense. Send 
the boy to me!” 

Madame opened her lips to beg that he would not 
require Edward to go. But glancing at her husband’s 
face, she thought better of it and only said, “I’ll send 
him in at once.” 

M. Petit was standing at the window and did not 
turn as his son entered, — he would not look at those 
pleading eyes, — but said sternly, “Edward, you will go 
with us to the picnic, and if 1 go on to the crater you 
will go with me.” 

“O, father, please don’t ask me to go !” 


38 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

Monsieur wavered. The pleading voice, the words 
brought back a morning many years ago, and he seemed 
to see his lovely girl wife and again hear her plead, ‘‘Oh 
no, Eugene, don’t ask me ever to go there !” He turned 
and looked at Edward. A burning spot like a hectic 
flush was on either cheek. These only set off the 
extreme pallor of brow and lips. The eyes seemed to 
have a smouldering fire behind them, as you have seen 
in fevered delirium. The sensitive mouth twitched, 
and he passed his hand back over his brow and waving 
hair as if in pain. Seeing the relenting on his father’s 
face, the boy said again, “Please, father, do not ask me 
to go to that mountain of destruction !” 

“Who taught you to call it the mountain of de- 
struction ?” 

A new, strange look came over the boy’s face and 
he replied in clear tones, “The Lord of Hosts.” 

A flush of anger crept up to M. Petit’s dark brow. 
He turned again to the window for a moment, then said 
in sterner tones than at first, “Edward, I did not ask 
you to go to-morrow, I commanded you to go and you 
will obey !” 

A spasm of pain passed over the boy’s face. For a 
moment he cowered as if from an actual blow. The 
flush died out of his cheek and left him ghastly pale; 
a far-away look came into his eyes and finally, as his 
father turned toward him, he raised his head as if in 
pride and with one tapering finger pointed toward 
Mont Pelee, and with the smouldering fires behind his 
eyes emitting sudden gleams, he said, “I obey, father. 


THE PICNIC 


39 


With blistering feet I’ll climb the fiery mount at thy 
command; but thou knowest not whether I shall ever 
return, for the fires burn my soul !” 

Monsieur stood for a moment dumb. Was this de- 
fiance, or was it — 

^‘Oh, you’re the best papa!” said Heloise, rushing 
into the room. “Gerard is already at work on France, 
and he will make England to-morrow. France will be 
mine and England will be Edward’s. And I told 
Gerard to make a United States for Violet. She wants 
one. I told him you said so, and he said he guessed 
not, 'case Edwa’d he nebe’ tell him so.’ ” Her mimicry 
of the negro brogue brought a smile to her father’s face, 
and the astute little maiden went on, “And I told him 
if you hadn’t said so, you would 1” with a positive nod 
of her little head at every word. “And you will, won’t 
you?” said the dauntless Heloise, looking up archly 
into her father’s face. 

“Bring Violet herself in to ask for her United 
States,” said M. Petit, with a thought of sending her 
away that he might speak with Edward alone, and, if 
possible, soothe him. 

But Heloise, who all the time she had been talking 
with her father, had stood by Edward’s side, not look- 
ing at him at all, but softly caressing his hand with 
both her own, now pressed her soft cheek to his hand 
and said, “My Edward is going with me to hunt Violet. 
We’ll be back soon, father,” and she led Edward away, 
leaving M. Petit feeling that he had had one long hour 
of defeat after defeat. 


40 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

Then a message came for him and he was hurried off 
on business before the children came back, and he did 
not return until late. He was met in the hall by Joan, 
whose face wore a look of grave resolve. She char- 
acteristically plunged at once into what she had to say. 
*‘M’sieu’ Petit, hain’ I wo’ked ha'd fo’ yo’ nigh onto 
twenty yea’, an’ hain’ I been a faithfu’ serban’ to yo’ 
an’ yo’n, an’ hain’ I looked affe’ de in’eres’ ob dis house, 
an’ hain’ I been w’at de quality calls a ’ficient serban’ ?” 

“Yes, Joan,” said M. Petit, with a smile, “you have 
done all that, and you have been both an efficient and 
sufficient servant.” 

“Dat’s it! I hab alius been ’ficient an’ ’nough 
’ficient. An’ now M’sieu’ Petit, fo’ once in dese twenty 
yea’, Pse gwine to speak de trufe, de whole trufe, an’ 
nuffin’ but de trufe. Yo’s ha’d on yo’ own flesh an’ 
blood!” 

“Joan!” M. Petit began sternly, then after a mo- 
ment’s pause said wearily, “Go on, Joan.” 

“Dat I will! Ps ’termined Ps gwine tell de whole 
trufe ’bout Edwa’d. He am habin’ powe’fu’ bad night 
to-night. Dat po’ dea’ chile am one ob de frail lambs 
wa’t ought to be led fru de green pastu’s by de still 
wate’s, an’ ca’ied tende’ly in de arms obe’ de leas’ 
rough prace, an’ nebe’,” here Joan’s voice sank to a 
deep earnestness, “an’ nebe’ drobe obe’ de steep praces.” 
Joan paused, then went on a little more gently, “I know 
yo’ lob’ de bressed lamb ’mos’ as much as Joan lob’ 
him, but yo’ hain’ hel’ ’im in yo’ arms night affe’ night 
when his brow wa’ hot an’ his po’ eyes so bright wid de 


THE PICNIC 


41 


febe' dat it seemed dey'd nebe’ close in sleep agin. Yo’ 
hain^ seen de sweet little face all ’storted wid pain ; yo^ 
hain' hea’d de pitifu’ wo'ds de little lips speak when de 
febe' bring him fancies. Madame knows! Many a 
night Madame stan' obe' him when yo’ don' know 
nuffin' 'bout it. De bressed saints wa' sho' answerin' 
Missy Marie's pra’ when dey sent Madame hea'. Many 
time she hoi' de little flutterin’ han' so tende' an' croon 
a little song so sof an' low tell de hot brightness leabe 
de eyes an' sleep come to res’ de po’ lamb. But she 
alius say she mus’ not tell M’sieu', 'case it worry him. 
But Joan tink to he’se’f, la sakes alibe, de little lamb 
hab worry 'nough, now let M’sieu' worry one little 
while. He am strong to stan’ it. An’ now, M’sieu’ 
Petit, Joan hab said he’ say.” 

‘‘You may go to bed now, Joan,” said M. Petit, “and 
sleep till morning. I will go to Edward.” 

Joan stood for a moment with arms akimbo, gazing 
after him as he went to Edward’s room, then she com- 
muned thus with herself : “Bres my soul, but M’sieu’ 
Petit am gwine to be mighty s’prised at some tings he 
see an’ hea’; but he been blin’ an’ deaf long ’nough. 
It’s mighty sa’tain, anyhow, dat when de Lo’d made 
man He done lef out de gumption. Dat’s how it hap- 
pened dat when He went to ’siderin’ ’bout sen’in Cain 
and Abel, an’ all de ode’ little Adamses, dat he had to 
make Ebe to he’p look affe’ ’em, so He gib he’ all de’ 
gumption fo’ two.” 

Monsieur stepped lightly to Edward’s door, so that 
if he were asleep he might not waken him, and paused 


42 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


on the threshold. Madame sat by the bed, with one 
hand on Edward’s brow and one holding his hand, 
watching anxiously as he tossed and moaned in his 
sleep. He moaned out in a strange, tense voice, ‘‘I 
must go to the picnic. Oh, it is a weary, weary climb ! 
I am faint with fatigue 1” Then Madame pillowed his 
head on her shoulder and smoothed the hair back from 
his brow, as she said in soothing tones, ‘‘Mother will 
carry you until you’re rested.” 

He sank then for a brief time into a quiet sleep, only 
to start in his sleep and cry out again as if in pain, “My 
feet! my feet! ’Tis scorching hot! It burns my feet!” 

“Mother will cool them.” And the untiring nurse 
took a cloth from a basin of water near by and began 
to bathe his feet. 

The child again slept for a short time, then he sprang 
up in bed and looked wildly about him until his eyes 
rested on his father in the doorway ; then he cried out 
in tones of terror, “Run, father, run for your life! 
No,” as his father started toward him, “don’t try to 
save me ! I am burned so here,” and he put his hand 
on his head, “I cannot go ; but you must run for your 
life!” 

His father advanced and said, “Why Edward, dear, 
you are right here in your room with mother and me.” 
Edward looked from one to the other as if about to 
comprehend, but when his father attempted to lay him 
back on the pillow, he resisted, crying wildly for him 
to leave him. 

Madame interposed, just 3igned for Monsieur to 


THE PICNIC 


43 


stand back, and placing her hand again on Edward’s 
head, said in that soothing tone, ‘‘Mother will cool your 
head. Now that is better, isn’t it? Do you remember 
the English song you taught me, Edward ? It is better 
than any of the French songs, isn’t it? See if I have 
learned it well.” And Madame sang in softest, sweet- 
est strains, “Sweet and low, sweet and low. Wind of 
the western sea — .” Edward nodded approval from 
the first line and at the end of the first stanza the wild 
look had left his face and he lay back on his pillow and 
closed his eyes. Madame sang through the second 
stanza more and more softly, and at its close Edward 
was asleep. Then she stepped softly to her husband’s 
side, though during the brief conversation that ensued 
she three times hastened to Edward’s couch to soothe 
him. 

“He is quite ill,” said Monsieur; “we would better 
have a physician at once.” 

“No, I think not,” said Madame. “It isn’t a very 
unusual thing, is it, for a child to talk in his sleep ?” 

“No, but Edward is surely feverish and delirious to- 
night.” 

“Yes,” said Madame slowly, “he is not often like 
this, but I had Dr. Gratiot in once and he said it was 
not necessary to summon him when Edward was — was 
nervous like this, just quiet him and get him to sleep.” 
Madame did not consider it necessary to tell her hus- 
band how often she had had Dr. Gratiot in, nor all he 
had said. “He left some powders,” she added, “to 
help him sleep. I gave him one an hour ago.” 


44 the prophet OF MARTINIQUE 


‘Then that powder has the wrong effect/’ said Mon- 
sieur, with the assurance of one who had made a dis- 
covery. 

Madame caught at this. “I wonder if it doesn’t! 
Now, I never thought of that! But perhaps it’s not 
just the right quantity and acts as a stimulant instead 
of a narcotic.” 

“That’s just it,” said Monsieur in a tone of relief. 
“We will give him no more of it. And now you must 
go to bed, Hortense, dear ; you must not wear yourself 
out. I will watch Edward awhile.” 

Madame went without a word of dissent, but with 
many misgivings. A brief time of watching was suffi- 
cient for Monsieur and with the first peep of day he 
roused Gerard and hurried him off for the doctor. 

Dr. Gratiot was a short, somewhat fleshy man of 
fifty, with a bland face, a bland, bald head, a bland 
smile and a bland tone. His attire was faultless. His 
hands were plump and white and soft. When he 
turned his kindly brown eyes on his little patient and 
placed a cool, soft hand on his brow, Edward at once 
grew calmer. And when the doctor said, “How is our 
Edward this morning?” he replied quietly, “I am bet- 
ter, thank you. Perhaps I shall be able to go to the 
picnic on Mont Pelee.” This anxiously. 

“No, my boy,” said the doctor in his blandest tone, 
“I think no picnic to-day. You’ll be quiet all day, then 
you’ll be ready for any kind of play to-morrow. But 
to-day, no picnic!” And the doctor shook his head 
slowly, as if forbidding a pleasure he would fain have 


THE PICNIC 


45 


granted. Dr. Gratiot, as was his custom, spent more 
time studying his patient’s wishes than in making a 
diagnosis of the case, though in that he was most care- 
ful. So after slowly shaking his head he repeated, in 
the same smiling way, ‘‘No, my boy, sorry, but no 
picnic to-day.” 

Edward looked inquiringly at his father, who said, 
“No, Edward, I would not wish you to go when you 
are not well.” Then Edward turned over on his pillow 
and fell into a sound sleep from which he did not waken 
for hours. 

“What do you think of him ?” said M. Petit, after a 
brief pause. 

The doctor looked doubtfully toward Edward, as if 
he feared he might waken him by speaking. This to 
gain time. Dr. Gratiot had never talked to M. Petit 
about Edward. Madame had always been the one who 
took the directions. Madame had talked to him freely 
about Edward, and he could talk to Madame. But 
this quiet, blunt man, who offered no remark but at 
once asked for the doctor’s opinion, him the doctor 
didn’t know how to answer. And Dr. Gratiot made it 
a point never to commit himself when he was doubtful 
of his listener’s opinion. At last he said, “He will rest 
well now. He has not rested well during the night ?” 
hoping to draw Monsieur out. 

“No. What do you think of his case ?” 

“His mind seems to be affected as — ” and then he 
took his first cue from M. Petit’s face. “That is, his 
mind is so active and strong, more so than his body, 


46 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

that its activity gets to a point that it resists bodily 
fatigue and induces sleeplessness. Now a dull, slow 
boy never knows a sleepless night; he goes to sleep 
early, sleeps heavily and is hard to waken. But (Dr. 
Gratiot w^s at last launched safely and went on boldly) 
in the case of a bright, intelligent boy, his mind is so 
alert that it resists sleep and, as in the case with Ed- 
ward, where the body is not quite so strong, this results 
in a slight nervousness. Now this nervousness may 
seem to take some special form. Is Edward indulged 
in any fancies that result from this nervousness T* 

M. Petit shrugged his shoulders, but as Dr. Gratiot 
was not quite sure what that meant, he waited. “Yes,’' 
replied Monsieur at length, “I fancy the women indulge 
him more or less. My plan is to have him resist his 
fancies and so grow out of them.” 

“Exactly so,” said Dr. Gratiot, “exactly so! You 
seem to understand perfectly. That is just the plan, 
bearing in mind, of course, that the thing could be 
overdone. The boy’s bodily strength is to be consid- 
ered, and the resistance to his fancies is to be kept 
commensurate to that. Now, here is just a little tonic 
to brace him up. That is all he will need. Do not 
waken him to give it. The sleep will do him good. 
And might I suggest a change of scene ; perhaps a sea 
voyage would do the boy good.” Now, Dr. Gratiot 
felt secure in recommending this, for Madame had told 
him a few days before that M. Petit intended to send 
Edward to England before many months passed. 

“Well, replied Monsieur, “I had thought of sending 


THE PICNIC 


47 


Edward to England to visit his mother’s people about 
next November. If you think I would better send him 
at once — ” 

“The very plan! Yes, now is just the time. You 
would hardly want to send him as late as November, 
for it is quite wintry then. But if he should stay on 
until November, then it would be all right. He would 
be prepared for cold weather. Fm glad you thought 
of it, M. Petit. He will come back another boy. Just 
the plan.” And Dr. Gratiot and M. Petit parted, each 
well pleased with the interview. Monsieur then had 
but little time to get ready to join the picnic party. 

This party had been some time gone when Joan, who 
was watching the sleeping Edward, heard the light 
tread of tiny feet and looking round saw Violet. “La 
chile, how yo’ s’prise Joan! I s’posed yo’ done gone 
to de picnic dis long while.” Now Joan and Violet 
had some difficulty in understanding each other, but by 
dint of gesticulation and repetition they managed to 
converse. 

“I was afraid Edward would be lonesome,” said 
Violet, coming very near to Joan and speaking in a 
confidential way, “so I asked papa if I might come back. 
He said maybe you wouldn’t want to be bothered with 
me, but Madame Petit said you wouldn’t mind, and just 
then we met Annette and she brought me back.” 

“Bress yo’ hea’t, honey, I guess Joan don’ min’! 
An’ won’ Edwa’d be s’prised when he wake?” 

Joan, may I gather a few flowers for him when he 
wakes ?” 


48 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


‘‘Bress de chile! Yes, honey, yo’ jes’ go to GeVd 
an’ tell him yo’ want flowe’s fo’ Edwa’d an’ he’ll gib 
yo’ a’m loads ob de purtiest. Bress de sweet babe,” she 
continued, after Violet had gone out, “she am got a big 
wa’m French hea’t ef she am one ob dem stingy 
’Mericans.” And she watched with great enjoyment 
the dainty fingers arrange the flowers with such care, 
marveled at the child’s patience as she sat for one-half 
hour with folded hands, silent and motionless, waiting 
for Edward to waken, and chuckled with delight at 
Edward’s pleased surprise when he did wake. But 
later Joan’s happiness reached the full and overflowed 
in peals of old-time laughter when they were eating the 
picnic lunch she* had arranged in one of the shadiest 
spots in the grounds near the fountain. 

After a whispered consultation with Edward, Violet 
said, “Joan, you’ve only arranged dinner for two, but 
there’ll be three of us. Yes, we’re going to have a 
visitor, aren’t we, Edward ? So you must fix the table 
for three.” 

“W’y, who in de wo’l, honey?” 

“Never mind,” said Violet with a great air of mys- 
tery. “You fix the table, our visitor will be here.” 
Then when all was arranged, with much ceremony she 
led Joan to the guest’s place and she and Edward de- 
clared they would not think of having a picnic alone 
when they had such a good friend. Joan was jolly 
and told all the funny stories in her stock. The chil- 
dren were merry and glad, and time flew on swift 
wings. Then very early in the afternoon Heloise came 


THE PICNIC 


49 


tripping home, bringing the mountain breezes with 
her, saying she didn’t see who could care anything 
about Mont Pelee’s old dry bones, or Lake Palmiste, 
either, and when they were ready to start to the crater, 
she made Alfonse Bethune and Mr. Allison bring her 
home. She was homesick, anyway, she said, without 
Edward, and she nestled down by his side, declaring 
that it was so good to be there that she would even try 
to talk his ugly English. 

'‘And do you know,” said Heloise, "papa told Violet 
this morning that she should ask you, Edward, if she 
might have her United States.” 

"Yes,” replied Edward. "Pll tell Gerard to make 
your United States and your flag if you will then sing 
for me "The Star Spangled Banner.” 

Accordingly Gerard was called to receive directions. 
When Mr. Allison was asked what the national flower 
of the United States was, he laughingly replied that he 
thought it was the sunflower. 

"But I will have violets in my United States,” said 
Violet, with decision. When her father explained to 
her that this would hardly be practicable, she said then 
she would have the trailing arbutus. Finding that this, 
too, she could not have, she Anally decided on a native 
orchid. Then they all went with Gerard to plan for 
the flag. 

"Would dat colo’ ob blossom do fo’ de blue?” said 
Gerard. 

"No,” said Edward, "it is not the right blue, it is too 
purple. That vine with the smaller blossom is exactly 


50 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

the shade and that hillia with its large starry white 
bloom is just the thing for the stars.” 

“Well, ril see effin I kin manage de hillia fo’ sta^s,” 
said Gerard with a grin. Then he continued, “But 
Missy Biolet, some mo’nin yo’ll wake up an’ fin’ too 
many sta’s on yo’ flag.” 

“Some morning you’ll waken,” said Violet, “and find 
there is another star on our flag, or maybe two or 
three.” 

Then Violet sang “The Star Spangled Banner ;” 
Edward begged for “America” also, and after that Mr. 
Allison joined Edward in singing “God Save the 
Queen,” and all could join in the last song Violet had 
learned, the “Marseillaise Hymn.” Then Mr. Allison 
told some of his stories, and Edward averred it was the 
best picnic he had ever attended. 

Finally to crown Edward’s day, M. and Mme. Petit 
came home early and Monsieur sought out Edward. 
The boy’s face was bright and his eyes shone with 
pleasure. It was such a change from the morning that 
Monsieur took Edward in his arms, an unusual pro- 
ceeding, and told him how glad he was to see him bet- 
ter and how they had missed him all day. Then he 
said, “How would you like to go to England, Edward, 
soon, very soon ?” 

“I, father, may I? But you will go, too, won’t 
you?” 

“Not at first, dear; your mother and Heloise will go 
with you and you will stay quite a long while, and I 
shall come for you.” 


THE PICNIC 


51 


‘7oan was telling me just the other day, father, how 
my mother wished me to be taught to love her country 
and her religion. Father, I am proud of England; I 
love the English language; it will be easy for me to 
learn to love my mother’s country. It is the grandest 
country in the world, next to France. But — but — is my 
mother in heaven much disappointed if I do not love her 
religion just as she did?” 

Monsieur was silent a long time with the golden head 
on his shoulder, then he said without a sneer or even 
a shrug of the shoulders, “I do not know, my boy. I 
am afraid your father does not know much about 
heaven, if there be one. Perhaps your mother was 
right; Joan could teach you about your mother’s re- 
ligion better than I.” 

“No, I cannot believe Joan’s religion. I might be 
like you, father, if it were not for my mother in 
heaven.” 

Again Monsieur sat a long time silent. He won- 
dered to find himself longing for just so much faith as 
the child had, a sure belief in a heaven. “If there is a 
heaven, Edward, who is there?” 

“Well, my mother is there ; that is how I know there 
is a heaven, and — ” here the boy raised his sweet, pale 
face and great, earnest eyes to his father and spoke low 
and impressively, “there is a great God there, the God 
of the world and heaven. All the rest of it, about the 
Holy Mother and Christ and the cross and the blessed 
saints, sounds to me like a fairy story. But there is a 
God in heaven. I think,” he added musingly, speaking 


52 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

more slowly, ‘‘I think I know that, too, because my 
mother is with Him.” 

Blessed little Edward! Not quite adrift, but an- 
chored, like many an older person, near the haven of 
faith by the thought of a mother in heaven ! Monsieur 
again wondered to find himself longing for the child’s 
faith in even a vague, far-away God. “A little child 
shall lead them.” 


CHAPTER V 


THE BREATH OF MONT PELEE 

O NE of July’s hottest days in St. Pierre. M. Petit 
seated in his library, re-reading a part of 
Madame’s letter. A long letter. Madame did 
nothing by halves. 

‘‘Mrs. Newton, Edward’s grandmother, is a sweet 
old lady,” the letter said, “and I need not say old lady, 
except that the word grandmother seemed to call for it. 
I suppose she is only in the fifties. Needless to say 
she loves Edward devotedly. Everybody loves Ed- 
ward. His beauty has been so much remarked on that 
if he were anyone else but Edward, he would surely be 
spoiled. His manner with his grandmother is perfect ; 
and he loves to sit by her side and talk of his mother; 
it is sweet to hear him. I think you and Joan must 
have told him every little incident of his mother’s short 
stay in Martinique. Mrs. Newton has a great desire 
to see Joan. She would be quite a curiosity here. 

“My compliments to Mr. Allison. They say here 
Edward’s English is very good; and could hardly be- 
lieve he had studied it less than two years. I told 
them he had not studied it; he had lived it. Heloise 
persists in talking French, though no one of the house- 
hold understands her but Adele, the French maid. The 
53 


54 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

other day some of Edward’s cousins were in, and when 
Heloise discovered they could not speak or understand 
a word of French, she said, ‘How queer they should all 
study English before they can talk.’ Heloise’s devo- 
tion to Edward has entirely won Mrs. Newton’s heart, 
and she asked Heloise to call her ‘grandmother,’ the 
only English word the child has been induced to speak. 
The other day when there was a full family party, 
someone asked Heloise whether she would rather live 
in England or Martinique. She replied, ‘Wherever 
Edward is.’ 

“Later, when one of Edward’s uncles, who is some- 
thing of a scientist, was talking with Edward some 
scientific stuff, and Edward’s cheeks began to burn and 
his eyes to gleam with excitement, Heloise walked 
boldly over to them and said, ‘Edward, dear, mamma 
and grandma want you. And Mr. Newton, do you 
know any fairy stories ? I want you to tell me one so 
much !’ 

“Edward stayed long enough to play interpreter 
until Mr. Newton was fairly launched in his fairy story, 
then he joined us. When Heloise came back to us, I 
attempted to reprove her for telling an untruth, but 
she said, ‘It was true. I knew you and grandma 
wanted Edward; you always want him. And I did 
want Mr. Newton to tell me a fairy story. I didn’t 
understand a word of it, for he told it in English, but 
I listened politely anyway. But I did want him to tell 
it, so he wouldn’t talk any more man’s talk to Edward 
to make him so tired he can’t sleep to-night.’ 


THE BREATH OF MONT PELEE 


55 


‘‘Mrs. Newton knew what that meant, for she had 
seen Edward have one slight nervous attack, and she 
took Heloise in her arms and said, ‘That’s right. You’re 
Edward’s little guardian angel.’ So of course I 
couldn’t reprove the little angel further. That night 
Edward was very nervous and restless, and Mrs. New- 
ton said the next morning, she believed she would call 
in the eminent Dr. Bentley, who is a specialist in nerv- 
ous cases. I wished I could consult you first, but I 
didn’t know how to object, as Mrs. Newton took it so 
much a matter of course that there could be no objec- 
tion. Dr. Bentley is a peculiar looking man. He 
comes and stays quite a time with the family, and talks 
with Edward as with the others, but doesn’t act at all 
as if Edward were his patient. 

“By the way, the uncle I spoke of says Edward is a 
most remarkable child. He predicts for him a great 
career as a scientist. He says his knowledge of 
seismic and volcanic action, etc., etc. — a number of 
technical terms I don’t remember — surpasses anything 
he has ever known or heard of in a little boy. He 
wished to have Edward go home with him for a week, 
because he had books and charts, etc., that would in- 
terest him so. I thought it best for him not to go.” 

“Yes,” muttered Monsieur, “the women must keep 
him at home and coddle him, and have some precious 
English doctor to visit him instead of allowing him to 
go and spend a week with a man who would interest 
him and not nurse his fancies.” You have not read M. 
Petit aright if you do not know that more than all 


56 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

things else on earth he loved his fair-haired, frail 
Edward. Without injustice to his self-sufficient wife 
and his happy, healthy little daughter, he felt for 
Edward a love and solicitude that surpassed any feeling 
he had for them. Madame understood this, and she 
was quite content. A part of her devotion to her hus- 
band took form in a loving, tender devotion to Edward. 

Monsieur arose and paced the floor. believe I’ll 
go earlier than September. That other business can 
wait. I’ll go up to New York to see about that in- 
vestment Karnes suggested, and then take steamer for 
Liverpool. Perhaps Edward needs me. I’ll not send 
word I’ve changed my plans ; I’ll surprise them.” 

Accordingly, about a month later, on the Atlantic, en 
route from New York to Liverpool, with fair weather 
all the way, with a good investment just completed, 
with no wireless telegraphy yet invented to connect the 
ship with any part of the world and bring any news of 
disaster, M. Petit had a week of solid enjoyment. No 
presentiment of evil hovered near him. With that 
wireless mental telegraphy, which nature seems to have 
established between some women — very rarely men — 
and their life interests, no matter what the distance, M. 
Petit had no connection. So when, after landing at 
Liverpool, he took train directly to Marchville, and 
hurried to his family, he was not prepared for the 
reception they gave him. Heloise, who was the first to 
see him, came flying down the walk to meet him, cry- 
ing, ‘‘O, papa, papa! Darling, darling papa! We 
thought you were dead ! We thought you were killed 1” 


THE BREATH OF MONT PELEE 57 

A moment later his wife was sobbing hysterically in 
his arms, and Edward, paler even than his wont, was 
clinging to him with trembling hands, saying, “He did ! 
He did! The Lord led you safely out of that city of 
destruction 1’^ 

Presently Mrs. Newton came forward, and with the 
big tears running down her own cheeks, said, “Well, 
well, Hortense, Eugene is safe; it is no time now for 
tears. Let me welcome the dear man. I have not seen 
him for thirteen years. And let’s explain a little, for 
I see he doesn’t at all understand why we are all in- 
sane.” 

“O papa, haven’t you heard?” said Heloise. 

“Heard what, my dear?” 

“Heard that there was a dreadful, dreadful hurri- 
cane at St. Pierre, and killed almost everybody, and 
maybe killed you. Only it didn’t because you’re here.” 
And Heloise danced around her father, singing, “He’s 
come, he’s come, he’s here! He hasn’t been hurt at 
all!” 

M. Petit looked inquiringly at his wife. That re- 
lieved individual was drying her eyes and fast re- 
gaining her usual composure. “We just heard this 
morning, Eugene. Though we could get no particu- 
lars, the reports said that a dreadful hurricane had 
swept over St. Pierre, practically destroying our sec- 
tion of the town and killing great numbers of the in- 
habitants. Of course, I had but little sense. I did try 
to keep it from the children, but Heloise overheard the 


58 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

servants talking about it. So we’ve had a dreadful 
three hours.” 

Monsieur shrugged his shoulders. “You may be 
sure it is very much exaggerated. Some buildings 
damaged and several people frightened, will probably 
be the correct report.” 

“It’s easy to talk so, Eugene,” laughed Mrs. Newton, 
“when you have all your family safe around you. But 
remember, when the news first came to us, we had every 
reason to believe you were there.” 

But Monsieur felt more anxiety than he showed. He 
knew the violence of the Caribbean hurricane, and this 
was just the season for the most violent. Afterward, 
when Mr. Newton assured him it was more than a wild 
report, though he had no particulars, he decided to 
return to the city and remain until he could get a 
somewhat detailed account of the affair. When he re- 
turned, to his wife’s inquiries, he said, “Oh, it is not 
nearly so bad as you at first thought.” But after the 
children were sent away, he said, “True, it is not so 
bad as you at first thought, but it is bad enough. It 
seems there was an earthquake shock accompanying the 
hurricane. From the best reports I am able to get, 
Fort de France is almost destroyed. The financial loss 
is enormous and many lives were lost. Our own prop- 
erty loss is considerable, I fear, but that is not the worst. 
Our home was partially destroyed and two of the serv- 
ants I left there were killed.” 

“Not Joan, Eugene! tell me, not Joan! Twill kill 
Edward!” 


THE BREATH OF MONT PELEE 59 

“Gerard and Joan. Why, Hortense, calm yourself. 
It didn’t kill Edward when you feared I was dead, and 
surely you — ” 

“Oh, you don’t understand. Edward did not for a 
moment believe you were killed. He comforted all of 
us, and kept saying he knew you were safe, — that the 
Lord had led you safely out of the city of destruction.” 

Monsieur was silent for a time, then, “And Hortense, 
the LaTerette home was entirely destroyed and all the 
inmates killed.” 

“Eugene! Mr. Allison and Violet! O, Eugene!” 
And Madame Petit took refuge in a flood of tears. 

“Why, Hortense dear. I’m sorry to see you so. I 
had thought you would be so brave.” 

“But Eugene, I have been under such a strain. Ed- 
ward had such a bad night, and kept calling on you and 
begging you to flee from the city of destruction. Then 
just on top of that, the terrible news came and I felt 
sure you were dead. Think, Eugene, for three long 
hours I thought you were dead ! And now Violet ! O, 
Eugene, why did I ever send her to that old house just 
ready to tumble down over their heads !” 

“Now, Hortense, not the least blame attaches to you. 
I arranged for them to go there, and the house was all 
right.” Again a pause, then Monsieur said slowly, “I 
had hoped you would be brave, Hortense, for — ” hesi- 
tatingly, “I am not. It seemed to me I couldn’t tell 
Edward; I should blunder. And you are not calm 
enough to do so.” 

Then did Madame dry her eyes and face the situa- 


6o THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


tion. After a long pause, she said, ‘‘I have thought of 
a plan.” Monsieur gave a sigh of relief. Through 
years of experience he had come to believe that when 
Madame said, ‘T have thought of a plan,” the thing 
was done. ‘T’ll tell Heloise,” went on Madame, “and 
she’ll know how to tell Edward.” 

“That child!” said Monsieur, increduously. 

“Trust Heloise. She’s not a very shrewd child in 
most matters, but from some loving, unerring instinct, 
she never blunders with Edward.” 

An hour later. Monsieur and Madame heard this con- 
versation as they were seated near the window opening 
on the veranda : “Edward, dear, isn’t it nice to have 
papa here all safe?” in Heloise’s soft, musical voice. 
No reply. “Wouldn’t it have been dreadful if you had 
come to England without mamma and me, as papa first 
planned, and then he had stayed, too, and we had all 
been at home in that awful storm? We might all have 
been killed!” 

“Don’t talk so, Heloise!” 

“But wouldn’t it have been terrible, Edward?” 

“Too terrible to think about, Heloise I” 

“But we are all safe ! Papa and mamma and I ! 
Nothing else could be so dreadful when we are safe, 
could it, Edward ?” 

“No, Heloise.” 

“Even if our home were torn down, it could not be 
so awful, when we are all here and not hurt at all.” 

“No,” said Edward again, though his voice was 
tense. 


THE BREATH OF MONT PELEE 6i 


“And,” said Heloise gently, “even to lose some dear 
old friend would not be so hard when you remember 
that we are all safe. Even if Gerard and — and — ” 

“And Joan!” finished Edward, with tears in his 
voice. 

“Yes, and even if other friends were not there to 
meet us when we got back, and — and to play with us. 
We would remember we have papa and mamma.” 

“And each other,” said Edward. 

“You could go on and read your English, and try 
hard yourself, even if — O, Edward! I wish I had 
learned English, so I could talk it; and — read it with 
you !” 

“Never mind, dear, I love our French.” 

“And we could keep all three of the flags and the 
United States always, even if — ” but here the brave lit- 
tle Heloise broke down and wept aloud. 

“There, you dear, brave little sister,” said Edward 
tenderly, “I know all about it.” In a tone all sadness 
he continued, “Gerard, and dear, kind Joan, and Mr. 
Allison, and sweet little Violet ! All gone !” Then the 
tone came to his voice that Madame knew so well, the 
tone that accompanied the smouldering fires behind the 
eyes. “Do you know what that hurricane was, Heloise ? 
It was the breath of Mont Pelee ! The baleful, blight- 
ing breath of Mont Pelee.” 


CHAPTER VI 


HOME AGAIN 

E ugene, Dr. Bentley wishes to see you in the 
library.^^ 

A small, slightly stooping frame, a sallow, 
wrinkled face, a fringe of dingy brown hair, an ex- 
panse of smooth, bald head that made the face, by con- 
trast, look small and shriveled, keen brown eyes and a 
beard so sparse that you could not decide on its color, 
this was the eminent Dr. Bentley. He gave one 
scrutinizing glance at M. Petit as he entered the room, 
then in his professional tone, with a slight drawl and 
and extreme deliberation, said, ‘‘M. Petit, I asked to 
see you — to make a statement — of your son’s condi- 
tion, — as I find it — after making a careful examination 
— of his peculiar case. Your son is insane — ” 

Instantly M. Petit sprang from his seat and took one 
stride toward Dr. Bentley. His face paled and his 
hands trembled. His voice became iron in his effort to 
control himself, as he said, “Dr. Bentley, I am ready 
to receive your bill; your professional services are no 
longer required.” 

Not a muscle of the great doctor’s face moved, and 
he went on in exactly the same drawling tone, with the 
same deliberation, “I was about to say — that your son 
62 


HOME AGAIN 63 

is insane — on one subject only — and further treatment 
of mine — is unnecessary/' 

“On that we agree. You may consider your services 
at an end." 

“But — I would suggest — " 

“You need suggest nothing." 

“I would suggest," the imperturbable Englishman 
went on, “that his surroundings — ^be made such — as to 
furnish — as — little material — as possible — for his in- 
sane fancy — to feed on." 

“Dr. Bentley, allow me to say again, further advice 
from you is not desired." 

M. Petit's rapid speech filled in one of Dr. Bentley's 
pauses, and that gentleman went on as if there had 
been no interruption. “And I would further sug- 
gest — " Here M. Petit sat down, and with a pale face 
and clenched fist listened in silence through Dr. Bent- 
ley's next speech, — “that the boy be encouraged — to 
pursue other subjects of thought — in which — he is al- 
ready interested, — and be furnished — aplenty of ma- 
terial — to feed these thoughts. — For instance — I notice 
— that he is interested in — certain social customs — and 
political doctrines — of the United States. — If he were 
furnished material — for studying these, — better, — if he 
were sent to America — to personally come in contact — 
with these things, — new — and interesting to him, — he 
— is young — he would probably outgrow — his present 
— mental disease; — especially if the tendency — came 
from — ^his mother, — from some temporary condition — 
of hers. On some questions, — M. Petit, the child shows 


64 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

— ^unusual acumen — for a boy of his age, — unusual! 
— He has rather — a fine mind, Monsieur, — it were a 
pity — for it to be — toppled over — by the preponderance 
— of one line — of thought, — on which he is not — 
quite sound.” 

M. Petit again lost his self-control, and turning to 
Dr. Bentley a steely glance from his small, black eyes, 
said, not so rapidly as before, ‘'Dr. Bentley, my son is 
no more insane than the man whose namesake he is, the 
Prince of Wales !” 

“That may be so, — that may be so,” the yet unmoved 
Englishman replied. “I do not know — I am not — inti- 
mately — ^acquainted with — His Princely Highness, — 
and he has never — done me the honor — to consult me — 
on his — mental state.” 

“One place wherein His Princely Highness has 
shown wisdom I I wish you good-day.” 

As Dr. Bentley, with great deliberation, rose to go, 
he said, “To be in school, — following a regular — pre- 
scribed curriculum, — would be a good thing — for 
Edward, — then he could not — follow his own fancy — 
so much — in reading and thought.” 

Scarcely had Dr. Bentley left the room when M. Petit 
strode into the hall, jammed his hat down on his head 
and was off for a long walk. When he returned, he 
went straight to his wife and said, “Hortense, I have 
decided to take you and the children home at once.” 

“Very well,” responded Madame, “we are ready.” 
And not then or at any other time was his interview 
with Dr. Bentley mentioned between them. 


HOME AGAIN 


65 

It was not a very joyous voyage home. And all be- 
gan to look out anxiously for changes, as soon as 
Martinique loomed gray in the distance. When it 
changed to blue gray, as the steamer drew nearer, and 
then to green and St. Pierre became visible, a little 
crescent spot on the green of the island, overlooking 
which stood the familiar sentinel, Mont Pelee, with his 
verdant robe and helmet of cloud, they began to feel 
that it must be as of old. But when they reached the 
harbor and saw the splintered spars and broken hull 
of a wrecked vessel near the beach, and noted here and 
there in the town the absence of one of those familiar 
palms that had reared its head higher even than the 
cathedral towers, and other signs of the hurricane’s vio- 
lence, they were not reassured. Madame suggested 
that the children be taken to M. Bethune’s until they 
had inspected their home, learned the extent of the 
damages, and perhaps partially repaired them. But 
both Edward and Heloise begged to go home at once, 
and M. Petit said, “Why not ? The report we received 
is sure to be worse than the reality. Of course they 
want to see the ruins, if there be nothing more.” 

So Heloise, tripping on ahead, was the first to go up 
the walk toward the house, but she came running back 
to her father’s arms, hiding her eyes, saying, “I don’t 
want to look ! I don’t want to see !” 

But Edward had caught sight of that which the little 
maiden didn’t wish to see, and ran forward with a glad 
exclamation, and the next instant there came through 
the foliage the unmistakable voice of — Joan! Joan in 


66 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


the flesh! No ghostly voice this, though much dis- 
turbed by tears and laughter intermingled. 

‘‘O honey chile, honey lamb, but it do res’ Joan’s 
achin’ eyes to see yo’ sweet face ! De bressed saints am 
good! Dey took Joan’s little white lamb away to de 
flat pastu’ while de wind blowed rough on de moun- 
tains, an’ den dey brought ’im all safe back obe’ de big 
wate’ ! Oh, when I saw Miste’ Allison a lyin’ dead a 
waitin’ fo’ de ship to take ’im away, when I saw de 
grabes ob Annette an’ Jean an’ Gera’d, I said to myself, 
‘But dey hain’ no little grabe yet! Eben ef de little 
bed am smashed to smiderations by de hurricum, bress 
de good God, dey hain’ no little cross wid de name 
Edwa’d on it!’ ” 

By this time Heloise was again using her eyes and 
saying still half doubtfully, didn’t you get 

killed in the hurricane ?” 

“La, bress de sweet chile! What would Joan do a 
gettin’ killed, when de little Biolet gal war a callin’ to 
he’ fru de sto’m an’ a needin’ he’ strong a’m! An’ 
needs ’em dis bressed minute, I specs,” she added with 
compunction, leading the group into the house (which 
was totally uninjured except at one corner, where Ed- 
ward’s room was located) and bustling about to make 
them comfortable, talking all the time. “Es po’fu’ glad 
yo’ come, Madame ; Joan’s done he’ bes’, but dat Biolet 
— dat little blossom can’t lib in de sun an’ sto’m ob dis 
Ian’ ; she am fadin’ mighty fas’, she am gwine to bloom 
in anode’ Ian’ one dese days mighty soon. An’ O, 
Madame Petit,” here her voice lowered, “he’ fade’ wa* 


HOME AGAIN 


67 


a Protestan' an’ didn’t kn'ow ’bout de right ways. An' 
I doan b’leabe dat chile ebe’ been baptised ! An’ nights 
I seems to hea’ Annette an’ Gera’d callin’ to me from 
de toom, an’ say in’, (Here Joan imitated what she 
thought to be a ghostly voice) ^oan, hain’ yo’ gwine to 
hab dat chile baptised? an’ one night, (here Joan’s 
voice lowered to a gruesome whisper) one awful night, 
when de low, mutterin’ thunde’ wa’ hea’d in de far off, 
dere wa’ a low, moanin’ voice like it come from way 
back in de mountain, said, ‘Joan, hain’ yo’ gwine to 
hab my po’ little gal baptised so she won’ see de 
Zombi?’ An’ I—” 

“Fie, fie, Joan!” said Monsieur — Madame had al- 
ready gone to Violet’s bedside — “that’s enough ghostly 
talk before the children. Besides, Joan, you’re mixing 
your religions strangely; good Catholics don’t believe 
in the Zombi. As for Violet, we will have no priestly 
nonsense over the child! Her father would not have 
wished it.” 

“Good for you, M. Petit! Give me your hand on 
that.” And Captain John stood before him. 

“You here?” said Monsieur, as he gave his hand 
rather gingerly. 

“Yes, I live here,” said Captain John, with a breezy 
laugh. “Come aft and I’ll show you the havoc the 
hurricane made in one corner of this land-cabin. Those 
gales blow queer changes to sailors as well as lands- 
men — to some evil, to some good. What do you say 
to this one blowing me a daughter?” 

“Daughter?” 


68 THE PROPHET OP MARTINIQUE 


“Yes. Rather a queer piece of property for an old 
bachelor, isn’t it ? But as neat and pretty a little craft 
as ever put out to sea. Though now,” and a slight 
sadness was in his tone, “she is becalmed very near to 
that port whence no vessel returns. If she puts in 
there, all is well; but if she returns, then I’ll have a 
craft I’m as ignorant of as any land lubber. I don’t 
even understand her rigging!” Again Captain John’s 
breezy laugh. 

By this time, he, M. Petit and Edward had reached 
the corner of the building that was damaged and Cap- 
tain John pointed out the spot where Gerard was killed 
while he stood trying to light the taper in front of 
the virgin in the little chapelle in Edward’s room. Ed- 
ward had been accustomed to light this every evening, 
to be sure, with very little of the religious feeling, 
yet it gave him a shiver to see it in fragments. Then 
he looked anxiously toward the place where his 
mother’s picture had hung. The wall seemed to be 
intact at that place, but he saw nothing of the picture. 
He inquired whether Captain John knew anything 
about it. Captain John could not repress a smile as 
he said, “Yes, it’s all right. Joan has it with all the 
other saints in Violet’s room to cure her.” 

“Indeed!” said Monsieur, amused in spite of the 
subject. “So Joan has gone to canonizing on her own 
score. Well, she has as much right as the others.” 

Edward then begged Captain John to tell all about 
the hurricane. Divested of all the voluminous wrap- 
pings of nautical language, which made it rather dif- 


HOME AGAIN 


69 

ficult for his listeners to follow, his budget of informa- 
tion was this : In the outer belt of the hurricane Cap- 
tain John^s little craft had battled bravely with wind 
and wave and had come through much worsted. As 
early as was practicable, he put in at the harbor of 
St. Pierre. On finding that the hurricane had done 
some damage in the residence neighborhood where M. 
PetiPs house was located, he hurried there and found 
that Gerard’s body — for Gerard was already dead — 
was being cared for, and that Joan had fancied she 
heard Violet’s voice from the LaTerette house and 
had run over there. He followed and found this house 
a heap of ruins — whether from the hurricane or the 
earthquake shock, he did not know — and Joan and 
two men she had called to her aid were working 
desperately at one part of the ruins, removing the 
debris, Joan alternately calling on all the saints in the 
calendar and speaking words of encouragement to 
those they were trying to liberate. Approaching 
nearer. Captain John found that Mr. Allison, with his 
face downward, was pinioned tightly beneath the de- 
bris with a great weight on his legs; and supporting 
himself on his arms, was bearing upon his back and 
shoulders by a stupendous, incredible exercise of will- 
power a much less weight, it is true, but enough to 
produce agony by the tension of strained and bruised 
muscles. Beneath his breast, just as when they fell, 
shielded from the weight by his posture, lay Violet. 
Captain John bent his powerful frame to the task. He 
worked as he had never worked before, spurred to 


70 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

double exertion by the sight of such suffering and 
such endurance. At last the first part of their task was 
nearly completed as Mr. Allison’s voice said faintly, 
‘^Can’t hold out much longer.” 

‘"Only a moment, Mr. Allison. Now, I can reach 
the child! There!” And little Violet was taken out 
practically unhurt and carried away; as Mr. Allison’s 
head dropped heavily and he lay in a limp, mangled, un- 
conscious heap. 

At this point a vision came to M. Petit of the slender, 
delicate Mr. Allison, with his immaculate attire and 
his mild face and yielding disposition, and he said, 
with genuine wonder and admiration in his tone, ‘T 
had no idea that man could have so much heroism !” 

Captain John looked at Monsieur fixedly for an in- 
stant, then replied conclusively, ‘‘He was an Ameri- 
can !” then continued his story. 

Another period of desperate work and Mr. Allison’s 
lower limbs were freed and he was carried to M. 
Petit’s house. After an hour of unconsciousness he 
called for Captain John and spoke to him briefly of 
the accident. Being near when he saw the storm com- 
ing, he had run home, hurried up stairs, taken Violet 
in his arms and thought to hurry out of the old house 
which he feared would not stand the test, when he was 
caught by the falling mass and held as they found 
him. 

“I cannot hope to give,” continued Captain John, 
“Mr. Allison’s fine words. But in plain speech this is 
what he said. I happened to have in my hand just 


HOME AGAIN 


71 


then a small United States flag, which, according to 
promise, I had brought to Violet, and fixing his eyes 
on that, he said, ‘I saved my child’s life, but at the 
cost of my own. I leave her a stranger in a strange 
land. You are the only American in Martinique that 
she knows, and she has no near relatives any place. I 
have no claim on you, not even that of an old friend. 
I wish I could appeal to you in the name of Jesus 
Christ, but you do not know Him. I wish you did.’ 
And confound it, M. Petit, so did I wish it just then! 
You and I believe. Monsieur, that all that stuff about 
Jesus Christ is a delusion, but I tell you in the presence 
of that dying man, ’twould have been mighty com- 
fortable to share the delusion. (Monsieur omitted to 
shrug his shoulders.) But I found never a word to 
answer and Mr. Allison went on, ‘But I know. Cap- 
tain John, that you are an honest man and a true 
American, and in the name of this flag, the cleanest, 
brightest banner that ever floated o’er land or sea — in 
the name of the stars and stripes, I ask you to be a 
father to my orphaned child and guard her from — ,’ 
but then his voice failed and he soon sank into un- 
consciousness, from which he did not again rally.” 
Captain John cleared his throat and shaded his eyes, 
muttering something about “this confounded tropical 
sun.” Then he continued, “He never finished the sen- 
tence, so I could only guess what he wanted me to 
guard her from; but I bent over him and promised. 
And — to some, the most sacred promise is that made on 
a book, but to me there could be no more sacred 


72 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

promise than one made by this old flag. Ay/’ he 
added, as if answering a query, “ ’tis the blood of a 
great-grandfather who attended the Boston tea-party 
and reveled in all the pomp and luxury of Washing- 
ton’s military quarters at Valley Forge; the blood of 
an aristocratic great-grandmother, who gave up tea 
for muddy coffee, silks and laces for homespun, her 
fortune for her country’s use, and her eldest son 
for the cause of liberty; the blood of a grandfather 
who in 1812 helped to teach the incomparably self- 
confident Briton that he had no corner on American 
citizenship; the blood of a father ‘left on the field’ 
after the Battle of the Wilderness — ’tis this blood in 
my veins that sends the tears to my eyes when I look 
at my country’s flag, and will never let me forget all it 
stands for.” 

“And since you’re giving your pedigree,” said Mon- 
sieur, with a shrug, “you might mention that ‘the in- 
comparably self-confident Briton’ was your ancestor.” 

“True,” said Captain John, “true! And without 
that very quality in her citizens, the United States 
could not have been what she is.” After a moment’s 
pause, “I do not wish to boast of my country above 
her deserts, or to detract one atom from the glory of 
those old countries, such as England and France, but 
it was an English writer, not an American, who said 
of the United States, ‘It is honorably remarkable for 
protecting its subjects wherever they may travel, with 
a dignity and a determination, which is a model for 
England 1 ’ ” 


HOME AGAIN 


72 > 


‘‘It was Dickens said that, wasn’t it ?” said Edward, 
who had been listening with ever increasing interest 
to all that Captain John had said. “Captain John, 
will you bring me a United States flag, like you brought 
for Violet, and will you bring me a book that tells 
all about your great-grandmother, who gave up her 
silks and laces and wore homespun?” 

“Well, yes. I’ll bring you a flag and I’ll bring you 
a book that tells about the women of the revolution- 
ary period, though I don’t think it mentions my great- 
grandmother by name.” 

“That day has far passed in your country, hasn’t 
it?” said Monsieur, cynically. “Your dames are not 
now discarding their silks and laces, I believe. And 
all the warlike spirit of your men is being expended 
in the campaign for wealth, the battle for the al- 
mighty dollar.” 

“That’s what they say of us because they marvel 
at our wonderful prosperity. Similar causes to those 
of the three wars I have just mentioned could hardly 
exist again, I fancy, for our freedom is gained, our 
flag is honored from pole to pole, our slaves are freed 
and our union is welded by imperishable links. But 
if another cause should arise, if the United States 
should take up the cause of the oppressed, and the 
trumpet call to arms should sound, then let tyranny 
tremble on her throne!” 

“You speak as if you mean somebody.” 

“You know whom I mean. I mean your neighbor 
in these beautiful islands. You know the history of 


74 the prophet OF MARTINIQUE 

Spain in the West Indies is one long account of tyranny 
and oppression, of inhuman cruelty and injustice. You 
know that she has always, right under the eyes of 
her neighbors, three of the greatest nations in the 
world, done things to make the civilized world shud- 
der. I know not how England or France may view 
it, but the United States has too long been an asylum 
for the oppressed and down-trodden of all lands not 
to feel deeply this Old World tyranny at her very 
doors. Her patience will not always endure. Then 
let Spain beware ! Millions of men — ay, and of women, 
for the United States has never had a war when she 
could have spared the help of her women — millions 
will be on fire with zeal to liberate the oppressed, and 
money will flow like water! Sneer as you may at 
the American money-makers, next to the loyalty and 
courage of her soldiers, money is the greatest factor in 
a nation’s success in war. 

“But I must come back to my subject. My ship 
needed repairs but I could not leave here until the 
child was better, or — ’tis the fever, the tropical fever. 
Dr. Gratiot says, precipitated by the nervous strain 
she was under. He thinks she may recover. In that 
case, I shall, as soon as possible, have her made my 
own by adoption, that I may have the right to guard 
her from — then I must find her a home. Not an easy 
task, I fear, for it must be a home, not just a place to 
stay.” 

But later, when Dr. Gratiot assured them the child 
would live, Madame’s “I have thought of a plan,” 


HOME AGAIN 


75 


came in to help him. And after an added appeal from 
Edward, and after Monsieur's consent was gained, it 
was decided that since Violet was so content where she 
was and was so attached to the children, and since Cap- 
tain John must come to St. Pierre often and thus 
could see her, she should stay at M. Petit's and study 
with a tutor until such time as she must be taken to 
America to finish her education. 

^'Clar to goodness," said Joan to a little statue of 
St. Peter she was dusting, “but Madame do beat 
all ! She am de puzzlines' piece o' womankin' dis po' 
sinne' ebe' come across. One day I tink I hab got 
Madame all figered out, dat I un'e'stan' he' sho', but de 
nex' day, when she hab tink ob a plan, it am jes' de 
bery identical plan I's sho she not tink ob. Now den, 
she seems to me jes' now to hab lots o' extra mudde'- 
lobe to spar. But look out fo' a s'prise at de nex' turn 
ob de road to fin' dey am sumpin' de matte' wid he' 
mudde' hea't!" 

It was on the same day Joan made St. Peter ac- 
quainted with Madame's inscrutability that Edward, 
Heloise and Captain John went to look at the three 
floral flags. The children had avoided the spot since 
their return, partly because it was Gerard's work, partly 
because Violet had loved the place with them, and they 
could not bear to visit it while her life hung in the 
balance. The outlines of the flags were still dis- 
tinguishable, although as they had been entirely neg- 
lected since Gerard's death, the exuberance of vegetal 
growth had marred them greatly. Presently Edward ex- 


76 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

claimed, “O Captain John, see this new little flag on 
the United States flag!” And with his finger he in- 
dicated an oblong at one corner of the union, where 
red, white and blue had combined in a way quite un- 
orthodox in a United States flag; the white forming 
two stripes on the blue, lengthwise of the oblong at 
one end of which the red, encroaching, made a solid 
triangle, with one great, starlike, white blossom in its 
center. 

Captain John gazed in silence for a moment and then 
said, musingly, ‘‘A miracle, a miracle! ’Tis a proph- 
ecy!” 

‘‘Captain John, is there any nation in the world that 
has that flag?’” 

“No nation in the world, my boy, but,” again mus- 
ingly, “what if a nation should one day be born? 
Watch that flag, my boy, made of freedom’s red, white 
and blue. Watch that flag!” 


CHAPTER VII 


INTERLUDE 

A DECADE. A full decade of events. A decade 
full of events. Events fraught with signifi- 
cance. Perhaps there is no ten years in the last 
four centuries that has not teemed with events of 
great moment in the onward march of the world’s 
progress. But selecting any locality, there are periods 
of outward quiescence when only the silent forces are 
at work. These are followed in the course of time 
by periods of glorious flowering and fruitage, or sud- 
den destructive or revolutionary upheaval, according 
to the kind of force that has been at work, and the 
amount of resistance offered. Who shall say whether 
the former or the latter is the more important period? 
Be that as it may, the latter furnishes the great his- 
torical events. Perhaps no decade in the four cen- 
turies has been more pregnant with these events, cer- 
tainly none has been richer in new out-flowering of 
civilization than that from 1891 to 1901. 

The history of the West Indies since the sixteenth 
century has bristled with romance and exciting ad- 
venture, with conquest and subjugation, with interna- 
tional struggle for supremacy, with injustice and mis- 
77 


78 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

rule, with cruelty and bloodshed, with revolt and free- 
dom gained, with the creation of new races and the 
ruthless extermination of old. But no decade in all 
these centuries is fuller of events of transcendental 
meaning for the future of these islands than that from 
1891 to 1901. This decade has seen great strides in 
industrial improvement in many of the islands, in the 
multiplication of railroads and telegraphs, and the de- 
velopment of natural resources. Much greater than 
this, it has seen Spain, the discoverer, Spain, the con- 
queror, Spain, the insatiable, who once inscribed in 
a public hall in a West Indian city, in connection with 
the Spanish coat of arms and a globe, ”Non sufUcit 
orbis/' Spain, the oppressor, Spain, the ruthless ex- 
terminator, Spain, the cruel and relentless, Spain, the 
medieval weight on New World progress, driven from 
her last hold in these islands. ‘‘The mills of the gods 
grind slowly, but they grind!” And eventually, in 
the steady, slow, ponderous, stupendous development 
of the human race, that which opposes this progress 
and development must be hurled down. “For I doubt 
not through the ages, one increasing purpose runs,” 
God’s purpose of perfecting his greatest creation, — of 
making man. And in the gradual unfolding of this 
purpose, ignorance and superstition, tyranny and in- 
humanity must be dethroned ; liberty and learning, the 
light of a purer religion and a broader charity must be 
enthroned. 

If Queen Isabella, when she listened to the pleadings 
of Columbus, could have had a vision of the future, 


INTERLUDE 


79 


a vision over four centuries, could have seen established 
in the New World — to be discovered and taken pos- 
session of in the name of Spain — the power that should 
strike the final blow that would set her country aside 
henceforth one of the insignificant nations of the 
earth, would she have withheld her jewels, or would 
she rather, in all the light of that unrivaled vision 
have said, ‘‘So be it ! The world moves. Let it move ! 
Let not my country hinder?” 

But greater, much greater even than this expulsion 
of Spain, this decade has seen, in the place of Spanish 
rule, in the largest and most populous of these islands, 
the “Pearl of the Antilles,” and in Porto Rico, the 
“Whitest of the Antilles,” the establishment of the 
New World rule. New World sanitation and educa- 
tion, New World industry and prosperity. New World 
vim and push. New World principles of freedom and 
brotherhood. New World morals. New World liberty, 
humanity and charity — in short. New World civiliza- 
tion, the grandest fruit, so far, of the world’s growth. 
What may not this mean for the West Indies? 

To Martinique, considered apart, this decade was 
an uneventful one. It saw no marked industrial im- 
provement in that fair, picturesque isle, no change in 
government, no civil dissensions, no disputed posses- 
sion, no effort to solve the race problem, no per- 
ceptible lifting of illiteracy. It saw possibly, a slight 
diminution of the white population, a slight increase 
of the mixed, a slight diminution of superstition, a 
slight loosening of the power of Papacy. It was a 


8o THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


quiescent period for Martinique. Most of its careless, 
pleasure-loving inhabitants heeded not, some knew not, 
that a revolution was in progress in the Greater An- 
tilles, that must affect more or less directly all the is- 
lands of the West Indian system. Not so M. Petit. 
Careless as most concerning the fate of struggling, 
starving, brave Cuba, until the United States took up 
her cause and entered into war with Spain; he then 
watched the conflict with all the animosity of a long 
standing enmity; smiled at the foreign representations 
of the United States as the “American hog”; and 
sneered at the mention of any better motive on the part 
of the Americans than a desire for the spoils of war. 

Nor did Edward Petit belong to the indifferent class. 
He was as staunch a Cuban sympathizer as could be 
found in the United States itself. He never forgot to 
follow Captain John’s injunction, “Watch that flag!” 
And Captain John, you may be sure, kept him supplied 
with current literature on the subject from the United 
States’ press, up to the time the United States went 
into war; then Captain John left his peaceful cruising 
in the West Indian waters for the purpose of trade and 
gave his service to his country. This was not for 
long, however, and when he next came to St. Pierre, 
it was with the assurance to Edward that the nation of 
his miraculous flag would soon be full fledged. 

This decade deepened the tan on Captain John’s 
face and streaked his hair and beard with the first 
white, but the vigor of his great frame was unimpaired 
and his pride in the achievements and glory of his 


INTERLUDE 


8i 


great country, his first love, increased with every can- 
non shot of this war for justice and humanity. 

This decade, though it found M. Petit but fifty- 
five, saw him grow prematurely old under the burden of 
a hidden grief. It saw him, under the weight of this bur- 
den, grow less charitable, more cynical, and more un- 
yielding. It passed over Madame with lightest touch 
and left her a stately, handsome dame, young at fifty. 

It saw the little ones, Heloise and Violet, grow up 
to young womanhood ; Heloise very beautiful, with her 
curling hair, her lustrous brown eyes, her dainty fea- 
tures, the perfect curves of her full lips and her smile 
that lighted up the whole world about her ; Violet, plain, 
at least only saved from being plain by her great, 
violet eyes, still looking out into this great world in 
a childishly inquiring way, as if their owner were still 
seeking an answer to lifers riddles that most people 
give up ere they leave childhood. Heloise, conscious 
of her beauty and the power it gave her, and glorying 
in it, somewhat imperious, fond of society, but loving 
and true withal, and wonderfully devoted to her 
brother; Violet, modest and retiring, self-depreciat- 
ing, fond of reading and of solitude, gentle and un- 
selfish. 

This decade saw Edward grow into manhood — but 
of him hereafter. 

With this household, as with Martinique, this decade 
saw no great events. Only the slow, silent forces were 
at work. It was for them a quiescent period. 


CHAPTER VIII 


MIRIANETTE AND VEVINE 

D awn, in the village of Grande Anse on Mar- 
tinique’s eastern coast. A dawn not heralded 
by all the glorious tints of pink and rose, of 
purple, crimson and amber, that heralded a dawn in 
the north, but a swift dawn, rising from the sea with 
a sudden flood of pale yellow light, and as swiftly 
changing into the full glare of a tropical day. So 
quickly does full day follow night, that it almost 
seems that the great hand of nature turns the same 
thumbscrew, or presses the same button to turn off 
the lights of the many brilliant stars, and turn on the 
one stupendous light of day. Broad, bright, hot day 
in Grande Anse, long before the sun shines in St. 
Pierre beyond the great mountain barrier. A clear, 
early morn, in the year of our Lord nineteen hundred 
and one, in the little black and gray village on the 
wave-beat coast, a village that makes a sombre patch 
on the bright multicolored landscape of meadow and 
cane, undulating upland, and farther blue and purple 
peaks that rise, and ever rise from Grande Anse back 
to the summit of Mont Pelee. 

In one ' of the smallest and dingiest of the dingy 
wooden houses on the lowest street of this dull-tinted 

82 


MIRIANETTE AND VEVINE 83 

little town, lives Mirianette, the carrier-girl. On this 
morning she is up before the sun, has her breakfast of 
fruit and coffee and is ready to start with the sun for 
St. Pierre. She has put on her oldest dress, a plain 
calico of once brilliant colors, but now dingy like the 
little town. This dress, all in one piece, and loose, she 
has bound down firmly at the waist, caught up and 
fastened at the belt in front, so that it falls but little 
below the knees. She has bound a plain kerchief 
round her hair, and has ready for her head the pad 
on which to place her tray. She stands in the door- 
way, looking out impatiently toward the green promon- 
tory that juts out to sea at her right. Vevine is late 
this morning! What can be the matter? A carrier- 
girl must be on time — as the sun! They will be late 
at St. Pierre, and the night that creeps down over 
the eastern coast so early, will overtake them on their 
return, where the way winds between cane-fields. The 
awful fer-de-lance, or a possible meeting with the 
Zombi, makes this prospect far from pleasing. But 
she must wait for her cousin. Vevine must not go 
alone. Vevine is too young and too pretty. Mirianette 
steps out into the garden — such a tiny spot to be called 
a garden — and with three strides passes beyond it and 
out upon the beach, where the rays of the new sun make 
innumerable little sparkles in the black beach sand, 
and where the trade winds, ever blowing, ever blowing, 
never resting, roll the foam-crested surf up on the 
beach with the roar that has never ceased through the 
ages. But Mirianette heeds not the wind, or the cease- 


84 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

less beating of the surf on the beach, or the azure sea 
rushing out, out, to meet the azure sky, or the one 
little fishing boat that has put out through the mad 
surf, on the waves that seem eager to devour it, though 
many of the inhabitants are intently watching it, for 
it is but seldom in the calmest, most promising weather, 
that a boat can put out from Grande Anse. 

As Mirianette stands motionless in her dingy robe, 
her bare, black feet sinking into the black sand, her 
solemn black face unlighted by any trace of even a 
dormant smile, and her great, black, sad, wonderfully 
sad eyes fixed on the promonotory of vivid green, o'er 
which she expects to see Vevine appear, she seems of 
one piece with the sombre little town and the dark 
beach; a tall, stately, not ungraceful statue of ebony. 

Ah, Vevine at last! Certainly if Mirianette seems 
a part of the one sombre spot in the landscape, Vevine, 
as she comes down the green slope, seems a part of all 
the light and color of landscape, sea and sky. She 
seems to have caught the yellow rays from the rising 
sun, caught them in the bronze yellow stripes of her 
new pretty dress, all white and yellow, caught double 
rays in the gleaming of her plaid headdress so taste- 
fully arranged ; caught them in her dark eyes, for surely 
there are soft yellow gleams in them; and — can it be 
possible — caught them in the little ringlets about her 
ears and escaping from her headdress upon her temples ! 
No, it is only the gleam of yellow through the ring- 
lets, for she has caught the sun's richest rays on 
face and neck, on hands and arms, from which the 


MIRIANETTE AND VEVINE 


85 


loose sleeves fall back almost to the elbows as she 
walks with her arms clasped behind her head; caught 
them on shapely bare feet and ankles that gleam yellow 
beneath her robe. For Vevine is not black but yel- 
low. Is it a trace of Carib blood in her veins that 
gives her skin that rich tint ? She knows not. Vevine 
is light, lithe and graceful, and her smile, such a ready 
smile, has caught the very essence of the sun’s rays. 
This smile she bestows on her cousin, as she says, ‘‘Mi- 
rianette, dea’, have you waited fo’ me long?” 

Mirianette’s solemn face changes not in the least, as 
she says, “Mo’nin’ honey. We mus’ be off! De sun 
didn’t wait on Vevine dis mo’nin’.” 

But it is not until Mirianette has removed about 
twenty pounds of weight from Vevine’s tray to her own 
(Mirianette always does this. Is she not twenty-five 
and Vevine scarcely seventeen? Is she not six feet 
tall and very strongly built and Vevine smaller and 
more slightly built? Yet Vevine receives her full day’s 
wages of one franc. Oh yes. It is a simple kindness 
which she of the solemn black face renders as freely 
as the water bubbles up at the wayside drinking foun- 
tain), not until Vevine has taken off her pretty head- 
dress, placed it at her belt and put on a plainer one, 
not until the pads and trays have been placed on their 
heads, and they have started, that Mirianette says, 
‘‘Honey, dat’s not a dress to wea’ to St. Pierre to carry 
you’ load.” 

“Why not?” says Vevine, as she walks with springy 


86 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


step up the first steep of her long journey. **Doan it 
look pretty?” 

‘'But de francs !” 

“Now Mirianette honey, you mustn’t scold, you mus’ 
jes hurry to make up fo' Vevine, poo’ little Vevine, 
bein’ late.” And Vevine begins to trill a song as she 
walks rapidly on. The road winds on between cane- 
fields, over hills and around, and just here they know 
that if they turn and look back they can catch a 
glimpse, over the billowing cane-fields, of the white- 
fringed azure sea. But what have they to do with 
vantage points for fine views? They must not linger 
an instant. The white road winds on, on, — almost 
seventeen miles from Grande Anse to St. Pierre, and 
they have but started; and the heights o’ertopped by 
cloud-capped Mont Pelee are still purple and gray in 
the distance. On, in silence, until they reach the bridge 
spanning the Falaise River; then, though they cannot 
pause one instant to watch its clear waters flowing over 
its stony bed, they give it one glance as they pass 
on, and Vevine says, “Happy wate’, dancin’ on its way ! 
Guess it didn’ sta’t late dis mo’nin’, an’ doan haf to 
keep sayin’ to de rocks an’ ferns an’ palms along de 
way, ‘Mus’ hurry fo’ I mus’ not be late a reachin’ de 
sea.’ Guess it doan matte’ what time it reach de sea. 
O Mirianette, you been carryin’, carryin’ fo’ eight yea’s, 
always carryin’, wid ha’dly time to eat an’ sleep !” 

“An’ mos’ likely I’s gwine to carry fo’ fifteen mo’ 
yea’s, Vevine, ef I hoi’ out dat long.” 

On in silence again, while the white road still winds 


MIRIANETTE AND VEVINE 


87 


about hills with red soil covered with cane; and on, 
past the cane-clad hills into the wilder wooded hills; 
and they are soon at the village of Ajoupa Bullion, 
three miles on their way. On in silence for almost 
another three miles. The road here winds very high 
and such a scene of wooded hills and deep ravines and 
distant mountain tops, green and blue and gray ! And 
for an instant through an opening in this piling of 
green hills and quaint mountain shapes, a far stretch 
of cane-fields and blue sea is visible; but Mirianette 
and Vevine must not pause to gaze. Swiftly, silently, 
all silently, for their light robes and bare feet make 
no noise, they walk on with long, springy strides, keep- 
ing step perfectly, carrying on their heads those great, 
heavy trays, nearly a hundred pounds, and never — up 
hill or down — touching them with their hands to steady 
them, or never stopping to gaze at any exquisite beauty 
in tree or bamboo or fern or blossom. They must not 
even stop here where the road overlooks that wondrous 
scene in the valley below. They must not pause an in- 
stant when they meet another carrier-girl, but must 
hurry on with a bare greeting, though Vevine’s smile 
leaves that other richer. Hear that sweet bird-note! 
The call of the mountain whistler. Vevine says, 
‘‘Happy bird! Free to fly an’ sing! No loads to 
carry! No steep road dat mus’ be traveled fo’ de sun 
go down ! Mirianette, Fs not like you ; I want to quit 
dis. I want to live like de bird, like de wate’, free an’ 
happy, havin’ time to sing by the way; like de hum- 
min’ bird, wearin’ my pretty dresses all de time.” 


88 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


No change in the solemn black face of Mirianette, 
but she steps a little nearer Vevine and says, “Vevine, 
honey chile, I wish de franc a day was ’nough fo’ bof, 
but it not. An’ Vevine, you ’member what de good 
fadde’ say?” 

‘‘Yes, but de good fadde’ he not walk dis steep, 
windin’ mountain road, unde’ dis heavy load ever’ day ; 
so he doan know. I love de fadde’s digion, Mirianette ; 
I’s a good Catholic; I’d like to stop at ever’ little 
chapelle an’ saint an’ vi’gin an’ cross along de way, 
’an bow befo’ it; but I can’t fo’ my load; an’ ’sides, I 
hasn’t de time.” On in silence again for a little time, 
between wooded heights, and then, “Mirianette, what 
ef I ’us to quit dis ?” 

“Is dat what you dressin’ up mean? Vevine, is it 
de white strange’? Dat what you mean, Vevine?” 

“Maybe ’tis, Mirianette; I’s so tired, so tired!” Not 
in a complaining tone does Vevine say this, and her 
face has always that smile. And now they reach the 
highest point on the road. “I neve’ pass hea’, Mirian- 
ette, dat I doan want to climb up de little hill to de big 
stone cross up yonde’ where dey say you can see de 
sea ahead an’ de sea behin’, an’ stan’ up dere widout 
any load, an’ take one long, free bref, an’ look out ove’ 
de sleepin’ sea at St. Pierre an’ back to the foamin’ sea 
at Grande Anse, an’ say, ‘Vevine, you doan jes haf 
to git to de sleepy sea befo’ noon, an’ you doan jes haf 
to git to de Grande Anse sea befo’ dark; but you’s 
free! You can choose be big, bright St. Pierre down 
dere by de still sea, or you can choose little gray Grande 


MIRIANETTE AND VEVINE 89 

Anse down dere where de win’s always blow an’ de 
waves neve’ res’. An’ dat way you choose, you can go 
when you like. Is dat wrong, Mirianette?” 

‘‘I doan know, Vevine.” 

“Dat’s like I feel ’bout my life, Mirianette. I want 
to go up on de hill once an’ take one long bref of free 
life, an’ look dis way an’ dat, an’ choose what I will 
have jes cause ’twill make me happy.” 

Mirianette makes no answer. She feels that on 
this hill Vevine would climb there stands no cross, and 
that it overhangs a dangerous precipice. But she finds 
no words to say. And now they have reached Morne 
Rouge and stopped for bread at the baker’s where they 
will halt for a moment to eat. The serving man has 
come out to unload them, and Vevine says, ‘‘Unload 
me quick, please; I’s so tired, so tired!” Though a 
little plaintive, the tone is not complaining, and the 
smile of sunshine is still on her face. Every day 
Mirianette hears this and to her, alone, it has grown 
very pathetic, even though a smile always accompanies 
the request, “Unload me quick, please; I’s so tired, so 
tired!” But now it has a new pathos to Mirianette, 
and after they start on down the wonderful mountain 
road from Morne Rouge toward St. Pierre, Mirian- 
ette hears nothing, sees nothing, only thinks, thinks. 
A deep religious feeling, all clouded with superstition 
and ignorance; love for Vevine and sympathy for her 
feelings, even for her frivolous vanity ; distorted moral 
views from the tainted atmosphere of her surroundings. 


90 THE PROPHET OF MARTIN IQ UE 

but withal a true woman’s instinct colors her thoughts. 

Down the steep road as silently as shadows until 
they have reached a plateau, then Mirianette says, 
doan know ’bout dat choosin’ jes what will make you 
happy, Vevine. Maybe you doan know what will make 
you happy.” 

“Mirianette honey, you been worryin’ ’bout me all 
dis while? Good Mirianette! I’d choose what ’ud 
make you happy, too, ef I could.” 

“Specs you bette’ let olde’ people choose fo’ you a 
while yet. Wish you’d let de white strange’ alone to- 
day. Will you, honey ?” 

“I doan know, I doan know. But doan you worry, 
Mirianette.” 

No reply. And now they have reached the steep 
road again, that through wonderful wooded scenes 
goes down, down winding and zigzagging; but all the 
towering forest trees, all the graceful bamboos, all the 
wonderful tree ferns, all the streaming lianas, all the 
gorgeousness of bloom, even the little stream tumbling 
down the mountain sides, right through this wealth of 
color, with its wonderful cascades can not tempt them to 
linger. They go down, down and the thermometer 
goes up as they leave the cooler heights. And Mont 
Pelee’s hooded summit towers far, far above. Now at 
last, under the awful midday sun of the tropic, still 
carrying those heavy loads, still erect and swift, and 
silent, they enter sultry St. Pierre, where never a breath 
of the trade winds blow, — Mirianette, with the solem- 


MIRIANETTE AND VEVINE 


91 


nity of her black face unchanged, — Vevine with her 
ready smile, all sunshine, and her half-jesting plaint, 
“Unload me quick, please; I’s so tired, so tired !’* 


CHAPTER IX 


THE GARDEN OF EDEN 

I N contrast to the heat of that noonday under the 
tropic sun, was the coolness of the interior of M. 
Petit’s great house, where everything was so ar- 
ranged as to be antagonistic to heat arid conducive to 
coolness. Madame sat in an easy chair thinking up a 
plan for inducing her husband to allow Heloise to have 
a year abroad. Heloise, the daughter of one of the 
richest men of Martinique; Heloise — with her beauty 
and vivacity — should not be allowed to marry a poor 
physician of St. Pierre. Victor LaTerette was all right 
in his place, and Madame had unbounded gratitude 
for his services to Edward, and Edward had really 
been better since his coming among them. As a kind 
of doctor — friend to the family, and untiring guard- 
ian of Edward, he was really invaluable. But he was 
paid for his services; in fact, from the day he came 
back to St. Pierre, the last of the LaTerette family, 
that in her husband’s boyhood had been so intimate 
with his own family, M. Petit had given him a home 
and treated him as a son. To be sure, she could see 
that her husband’s burden was lifting and that he felt 
daily less anxiety about Edward, because Victor La- 
Terette was quietly and unostentatiously, yet zealously, 
92 


THE GARDEN OF EDEN 


93 


keeping watch over him. But a financial return for 
this was sufficient, without having a penniless for a 
son-in-law. Not that this was a near contingency. Oh 
dear, no ! But Madame believed in taking time by the 
forelock ; in nipping such an affair, when it was neces- 
sary to nip it, before it budded, as, in her climate, bud 
was so soon blossom. Now if she could get Heloise 
off to Europe, then who would know but Violet and 
Victor LaTerette, thrown so much together, might be 
safely engaged before Heloise returned. That would 
be comfortable family arrangement. Then they could 
have Victor always to look after Edward, for Madame 
did not try to hide from herself that Edward was not 
wholly sane. She had feared it from his early child- 
hood; now she was sure of it, yet she never tired in 
her efforts to keep her opinion from her husband and to 
keep from him, as much as possible, Edward’s worst 
symptoms. This last had become more difficult of 
late, and Victor LaTerette’s vigilance had relieved her 
much. From the moment he entered the house, he 
seemed to understand M. Petit’s sensitiveness concern- 
ing Edward and fell in, without a hint from her, with 
her plan of shielding him and encouraging him con- 
cerning Edward’s state. Madame had no doubt that 
Victor LaTerette’s faith in Edward’s improvement was 
about as strong as her own, but he never on any occa- 
sion spoke to M. Petit on the subject, otherwise than 
indicating that it was a slight nervous derangement, 
difficult for a physician to handle, but not in any sense 
hopeless. To send Victor LaTerette away, therefore, 


94 THE PROPHET OF MARTIN IQ UE 

was utterly out of the question, they really could not 
spare him. So Heloise must have a year abroad. And 
soon Madame thought of a plan. Sad will be the 
day when Madame shall face a trying situation and 
shall not be able to think of a plan for meeting it! 

Meanwhile, on the slope of Morne Parnasse, in the 
depth of shade and coolness of the old botanical garden, 
in the twilight gloom of its great trees, were Violet 
and Edward, Heloise and Victor LaTerette, inspect- 
ing some of the wonders of Martinique vegetation and 
making havoc — ^with Madame's plans. Just at the 
time that Madame had settled matters to her own 
satisfaction, they were seated under a great mango tree, 
Violet telling Edward some of her experiences in an 
American school, and Heloise, at a little distance, tell- 
ing Dr. LaTerette how grateful she was for his un- 
tiring interest in Edward. They had, since they entered 
the garden, left a picturesque old choked-up fountain, 
because it reminded Edward of an extinct volcano, left 
a most beautiful cascade because it reminded him of 
a lava stream down a mountain side, left a beautiful 
little lake because it reminded him of Lake Palmiste 
in one of old Pelee’s dead craters. And here beneath 
the boughs of this huge old mango tree seemed the 
first safe spot in which to linger. Edward was, for 
the first time, launched on a safe topic, and Heloise 
had the chance for which she had been waiting, to ex- 
press her gratitude to the young doctor. Hasten, 
Madame! No one knows better than thou that Hel- 
oise’s eyes, now turned on Victor LaTerette with an 


THE GARDEN OF EDEN 


9S 


earnest look, are very beautiful ; that the delicate curves 
of her lips are bewitching, and that her dulcet voice, 
now speaking warm words of appreciation to the penni- 
less physician, makes the musical French tongue ten- 
fold more musical. Hasten, Madame ! That old botani- 
cal garden is fast becoming a veritable Eden. 

Suddenly in the midst of her words of gratitude, 
Heloise, who was facing Edward and Violet, sprang 
up with a shriek, and putting her hands for an instant 
over her eyes, turned and ran with all speed in the 
opposite direction. Dr. LaTerette turned quickly and 
saw in one glance Edward, sitting all unconscious of 
any danger, looking intently at Violet, and just be- 
yond, the triangular head and flaming eyes of a fer-de- 
lance ready to strike. An awful horror crept over him. 
Too late to do anything! Another instant and the 
deadly fang will have done its awful work! Just at 
that moment, Violet saw the serpent. With a little 
terrified cry, she threw her arms about Edward’s neck, 
saying, “Oh, my darling, my darling!” and dragged 
him from the seat. But there was no need. A swift 
tread as noiseless as the grave, a towering form, a 
black face above a dingy robe, one quick, peculiarly 
dextrous fling and the horrible triangular head with 
its deadly poison was severed from the body, which 
was still held by the tail in Mirianette’s black hand. 
Flinging the body aside, she picked up a stone and 
vigorously attacked the severed head, declaring it still 
had death in it until it was crushed. Violet advanced 
to her and clasping the large black hands with her 


96 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

small white ones, said, ‘‘I can never thank you enough 
for saving his life. That was such a brave thing to do, 
such a wonderful thing to do!” 

Tears were in the beautiful violet eyes that looked 
up with wonder and admiration into the mournful 
black ones, but the black face kept its unchanging ex- 
pression as Mirianette said, simply, ‘T learned de trick 
on de dead snakes tell I ’us sho I could do it at de 
fust fling. Times it’s de only way dat’s quick enough.” 

Looking at Mirianette intently, Edward said, 
‘‘Haven’t I seen you before? Are you not one of the 
carrier-girls from Grande Anse?” 

Mirianette nodded. “I come wid my cousin dis 
mo’nin’ an’ T was lookin’ fo’ he’ hea’. I b’lieve she 
come in wid de white strange’.” 

With a flash of understanding, Violet said to Ed- 
ward, “The pretty yellow girl, perhaps.” 

“A pretty girl in yellow and white?” inquired Ed- 
ward. 

Mirianette nodded. “Purty as de hummin’ bird.” 

“I think we saw her,” said Edward, “with a gentle- 
man back near the lava-bed.” 

“Near the large cascade,” explained Violet in a low 
tone. 

‘T should be glad to go and tell her you want her,” 
said Edward, eagerly. Mirianette nodded and Ed- 
ward went. 

“Your cousin is very beautiful,” said Violet. “Is 
it time for you to go back to Grande Anse ?” 

Mirianette nodded again, then said, “I doan like de 


THE GARDEN OF EDEN 


97 


white strange’. I doan like his face. I wan’ Vevine 
to go home. Vevine so young, she doan un’e’stan’.” 
Then, in response to Violet’s sympathetic face, Mirian- 
ette told all Vevine had said on the way to St. Pierre. 
Just as she finished the narrative, Vevine herself ap- 
peared followed by Edward. 

‘‘Mirianette honey,” said Vevine, with her brightest 
smile, ‘‘you mus’n’t wait fo’ me. I can’t go home to- 
day. Jes dis once, dea’, I’s goin’ to stay in St. Pierre. 
I’ll walk wid you a little way. You won’t be too lone- 
some widout Vevine, will you? I’ll see you to-mor- 
row.” 

Without a word Mirianette turned to go. Edward 
stepped quickly to her side and said, “You saved my 
like. Take this, please,” thrusting some money into 
her hand. “I’ll not forget you.” 

Mirianette only nodded and walked on with still 
that unchanged face, but a little of the sprightliness was 
gone from her step. Vevine walked by her side, 
vivacious, smiling, chatty, merry. 

Dr. LaTerette had satisfied himself that there was 
no companion serpent lurking near the spot where 
Mirianette had killed this one, and then had followed 
Heloise to assure her all was well. They now returned 
and Heloise said in her impulsive way, “Oh you 
darling, darling Edward! All safe and sound! Oh!” 
with a shudder, “that awful head and those horrid, 
horrid eyes of fire! I can never forget them! Where 
is that dear black angel? Gone? Well, I’ll hunt her 
up to-morrow. Violet, you shall go with me this very 


98 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

afternoon to buy her the prettiest and brightest of 
dresses, the largest of earrings and the gaudiest of 
bracelets. And we’ll go to old Fabette, who paints the 
beautiful stripes on the turbans. She shall have a real 
painted headdress.” 

Just then a man came sauntering along from the 
direction of the cascade. It was ‘‘de white strange’.” 
He was a man in middle life, below medium stature 
and somewhat thickset. He had heavy black hair, a 
low brow and small black eyes under heavy eyebrows. 
Violet only had the impression, as she looked at him, 
that he had a disagreeable face; but Heloise noticed 
the disproportion between the lower part of his face, 
with its heavy jaw and large mouth, and the upper, 
with its short nose, small eyes and low brow. 

“Ugh!” said the stranger, pausing and looking at 
the body of the slain serpent stretched out full five 
feet. “I’d rather tackle a jungle tiger than that fer-de- 
lance. What man was brave enough to kill it ?” 

“No man,” replied Edward, “a woman killed it.” 

“The deuce she — ” The stranger stared at Violet 
and then at Heloise, which last stare lasted so long 
that Dr. LaTerette involuntarily stepped between them. 

“It was not, of course, one of these ladies. It was 
a large colored woman.” Then turning to Edward, 
“We’d better take the ladies home at once. You go 
on with Miss Allison and I’ll come with Mile. Petit.” 

“Ah, I thought sol” said the stranger, speaking to 
Edward. “You are Eugene Petit’s son.” Edward 
inclined his head. “Well, tell Mme. Petit that Louis 


THE GARDEN OF EDEN 


99 


Cordot sends his compliments and will call on her/' 

His tone had just a touch of impudent assurance, and 
Edward drew himself up proudly, turned on the 
stranger his large eyes that had an ominous flash in 
them, and in tones that had nothing in common with 
Martinique climate said, ‘‘I shall take my mother no 
message from you !" 

The stranger gave a low whistle as he slowly looked 
Edward over from the waves of his yellow hair to his 
feet. Then he slowly smiled, or rather snarled, for the 
muscular contraction of the upper part of his face, that 
almost hid the small eyes, lifted the short nose and 
lifted still more the upper lip, showing a row of large 
white upper teeth, while the lower lip remained per- 
fectly immovable, had not the effect of a smile, though 
it took the place of one, but very much the effect of 
that action which in the lower animals accompanies a 
snarl. Then he said slowly, as Edward turned away, 
*T have no doubt we shall meet again, M. Petit." 

‘‘O mamma," Heloise said as soon as they arrived 
at home, ‘Ve've been to the garden of Eden. Of 
course you know I mean the old botanical garden. I 
think its antiquity first suggested to me the garden of 
Eden, and then the serpent appeared. Pm sure the 
serpent that did that awful mischief in Eden was a 
fer-de-lance. Surely Satan could find no more fitting 
form. At any rate, that's the form he took to-day. 
And the moment I saw him, I did what Mother Eve 
would better have done, I ran away with all my might. 
To-day his target was a man, not a woman. I sup- 


100 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


pose/’ in a bantering tone, “he always attacks the 
weakest.” 

“That would have been I,” said Dr. LaTerette, 
“for I was the only one who seemed utterly unable to 
move.” 

“No,” said Edward, “he was preparing to do what 
he always does, I fancy, strike the unwary one.” 

“Then,” continued Heloise, “by flight I missed a 
part of the scene. Violet must tell me the rest.” Violet 
flushed, and Dr. LaTerette hastily took up the story, 
and without any reference to Violet’s part told of 
Mirianette’s speedy and effective encounter with the 
serpent. 

Madame had risen and moved nearer Edward. She 
now said, “We must surely reward her for that.” 

“And then,” said Heloise, “he took in general the 
form of a man; but, being the personage who goes 
about seeking whom he may devour, he had a rather 
large mouth. And then his smile was as diabolical as 
you can possibly imagine.” 

Madame smiled placidly, saying, “And did you 
again show flight?” 

“No, I’m not quite so terrified at his majesty in that 
shape, as in the other.” 

Edward said rapidly, “It was like the hideous face 
I used to see in my dreams and visions. It made me 
think of the face I yet see sometimes on the summit 
of Mont Pelee, the face that leers at me and threatens 
me with the poison of Mont Pelee’s breath.” 

Violet moved quickly to Edward’s side and said, 


THE GARDEN OF EDEN 


lOI 


with simple intent to turn his thoughts, “Do you know 
why Mirianette was so anxious about the pretty yellow 
girl?’' 

Edward looked at her, puzzled for a moment, then 
said almost fiercely, “Ah, ’tis one of the things for 
which Mont Pelee’s fires must descend some day. Ask 
me not why ; ask my mother, if one so young and pure 
must ask such things. Ask the great sentinel, Mont 
Pelee, that for centuries has looked down in silence 
on the wrongs of a down-trodden race. He will not 
always be silent. Some day his thunders will shake the 
earth !” 

Violet had failed in her kindly purpose and Heloise 
rattled on, “Come to think of it, mamma, you will see 
his Satanic majesty. He assumed human name as well 
as form and bade us tell you that Louis Cordot sent 
his compliments and would call on you. And you 
should have seen Edward when — Mother! What is 
the matter?” 

Dr. LaTerette hastened to Madame’s side. “Do 
not be alarmed. Mile. Petit. It is only a slight 
fainting attack. Perhaps the thought of Edward’s nar- 
row escape overcame her.” 

When, shortly after, Madame’s consciousness re- 
turned, and she seemed almost herself again. Dr. La- 
Terette said, “Very sorry we frightened you so. We 
should not have given such a vivid description of that 
dreadful serpent. Indeed, Mme. Petit, you have done 
more than any of us to show your concern for Ed- 
ward.” 


102 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


‘‘Yes/' said Madame, “it seemed dreadful to think 
of—" 

“Oh, never mind, mother," said Edward, don't talk 
about it. It's all right now." 

“You dear brother," said Heloise, “I must beg a 
thousand pardons for deserting you in your need and 
ingloriously running away !" 

“And I," said Dr. LaTerette, “for so placidly re- 
signing you to your fate." 

Violet said not a word, and the color flamed up 
to her cheeks in a painful way. But later, when they 
were alone, she said, “I, too, Edward, must beg your 
pardon for so far forgetting myself when I saw you 
in danger. I'm afraid I acted very foolishly." 

Edward turned on her eyes full of a strange wonder 
and questioning. The color fled from Violet’s cheeks 
under that gaze, but her beautiful eyes looked straight 
into his and she said, “We have been so long together, 
Edward, just like brother and sister, and when I saw 
you in danger — Ugh! I can't think of it yet! — I 
forgot everything — " She hesitated, uncertain how to 
go on. 

“Not just like brother and sister, Violet,” said Ed- 
ward, his eyes still searching her face. “Heloise would 
not have apologized for similar conduct. Violet," he 
took one step toward her and a great light suffused 
his beautiful, sensitive face, “is it possible — dare I 
hope that it means — But no!" And the light faded 
from his face and there came in its place a look Violet 
could not fathom. “I have no right to ask. Forgive 


THE GARDEN OF EDEN 


103 


me, Violet, my dear sister!” He took one step away 
from her and, gazing over to Mont Pelee's cloud-capped 
summit said, “I dare not think of that so long as old 
Pelee has his wrath pent up to pour out upon my hap- 
piness.” His hands trembled and the smouldering fires 
were behind his eyes. 

Then did Violet forget all her embarrassment and 
was his tender, helpful sister again. Going quickly to 
his side she said, “Edward, did you see what Captain 
John brought us at his last call? It is a beautiful 
book, so large I can scarcely lift it, telling all about 
our war with Spain, and all about what they are doing 
in Cuba. And he brought us a large Cuban flag.” 

“Sometimes,” said Edward, dreamily, “when that 
hideous face is looking down on me from Mont Pelee, 
the beautiful Cuban flag comes in between and hides 
the face from view, and then I do not feel the threat 
of Mont Pelee. The book we’ll read together, shan’t 
we?” 

An almost imperceptible pause, then, “Certainly, Ed- 
ward, we’ll begin to-morrow. But now let’s go down 
to the corner where we can get a glimpse of the sun- 
set tints on the water.” The air was yellowing toward 
the sunset. They were early enough to get all the 
slowly changing tints on sky and sea. 

While Violet and Edward were thus conversing. 
Dr. LaTerette was saying, “I have new hope for Ed- 
ward, Heloise — Mile. Petit, a strong new hope.” 

“What hope?” said Heloise eagerly, then simply, 
“Call me Heloise. I like it.” 


104 the prophet of MARTINIQUE 


“Violet loves Edward!” 

“Of course,” said Heloise innocently. “Everybody 
loves Edward.” 

Dr. LaTerette hesitated. Was this a real or feigned 
ignorance of his meaning? “You do not understand 
me,” he said. “Violet loves Edward as — as a woman 
loves the man she would marry.” 

Heloise was silent for a long time, for her, then said 
slowly, “Are you sure ?” 

“Quite sure. You did not see the scene in the 
garden.” 

“Then,” said Heloise, still more slowly, “I see noth- 
ing hopeful about it, but only utter hopelessness for 
Violet; and for Edward the loss of a good friend, a 
kind sister.” 

“Heloise, I am most sincere in believing there is a 
cure for your brother. Just how, I have not been able 
to see. But love is a cure for many ills in a man’s 
life. The love of the one woman is the great factor 
to make or mar his life. Why should it not be so with 
Edward? Why should it not be the charm to bring 
him back to himself?” 

Heloise had entirely forgotten herself and her 
charms in this subject dearest to her heart, and was 
therefore most charming. She raised her soft brown 
eyes, glistening with unshed tears, and with just the 
tiniest, most tempting quiver on her lips said, “Why 
not? Because Edward will never know it. I have 
feigned with my father and mother so much, that it 
is a comfort to have someone with whom to speak 


THE GARDEN OF EDEN 


105 

without reserve. You know, of course, that I love 
Edward better than anyone else in the world. But I 
have ceased to hope that he will ever be — like other 
men. The cloud will never lift from his mind, and 
love — the kind of love you mean — will never pierce that 
cloud.” 

‘‘You do not know the power of love — the kind of 
love I mean !” 

“Then how can you know ? No, Dr. LaTerette, do 
not make me hope.” 

“I want you to hope, so I may have your help. And 
to answer your question, I know the power of such 
love, because I love!” Then hurrying on, “Edward 
does not suspect Violet’s love. I want him to know. 
I want you to talk to Violet. Make her feel it is Ed- 
ward’s one chance of a full life, and — ” 

“No, Dr. LaTerette, you need not go on. I do 
not feel as you do. I am not at all certain that Violet 
loves Edward other than as a sister. I am not sure 
it would help if she did. I could never even so 
much as mention it to her. Violet has been my sister 
too long for me to think of her in any other way.” 

“I sincerely hope she may be your sister some day,” 
he wanted to add, “and mine,” but wisely refrained. 
“But since I’ve failed to enlist you, then I must go 
on alone.” He wondered if he should always go on 
alone from failure to enlist her, but he only said, “Shall 
we join Violet and Edward to see the sunset?” 

They watched the tints of sky deepen to reddish 
gold, and, coming in on the placid lavender sea, a ship. 


io6 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


sharply, darkly outlined against the sunset light. As 
they stood in silence, each busy with his own thoughts, 
the sweet chimes from the cathedral bells floated out on 
the golden air; then the last bright color flamed up in 
the west, and the quick darkness invested sea and land 
in its folds. 

Ere they began to watch the first pencilings of sun- 
set color in St. Pierre, evening gloom was settling over 
the Grande Anse coast. The sun had already passed 
beyond the great mountain barrier and the swift-com- 
ing night, with all its terrors, lent wings to Mirianette's 
feet, as, alone and weary, she fled over the last stage 
of her journey looking cautiously at every step of the 
smooth white road, for the fer-de-lance reigns king 
of the mountain road when darkness falls. Ah! was 
that a serpent? No, it was but a dim shadow of bam- 
boo from the faint light yet remaining in the sky. 
Greater than her dread of serpents was her dread of 
meeting the vague, ghostly, terrible, ill-omened, all- 
powerful Zombi, the object of superstitious terror to 
all negroes of Martinique who may be out after night- 
fall. What was that form approaching in the gloom? 
Ah, it was only Latou, the laborer. At last the road 
made a sudden descent to the coast and Mirianette saw 
the clock in the church tower suddenly flash out its 
light, and felt the warm trade winds, and heard the 
dashing of the surf on the beach, and was at home — 
alone 1 She stepped out again on the beach. Even in 
the moonlight she could see the steely sparkles in the 
black sand, and a wonderful filigree of silver edged 


THE GARDEN OF EDEN 107 

the roaring waves. Surely a time and scene for 
reflection ; but Mirianette had walked the rugged moun- 
tain road all these miles to far St. Pierre and back ; and 
the warm wind bore sleep on its wings. Mirian- 
ette sought her bed, and under the soporific power of 
that wind, as physical pain under the effect of an 
opiate, the mental pain and disappointment that had 
not left her on all the long, hard, homeward journey, 
gradually dulled down, and she fell asleep to the music 
of the pulsing sea, to have troubled dreams of Vevine. 


CHAPTER X 


MEDDLING WITH CUPID^S AFFAIRS 

I N pursuance of his plan, at the first opportunity, 
Dr. LaTerette approached Violet on the subject 
just now employing his mind. They were alone 
and he said, ‘‘Miss Allison, — ” 

“I beg your pardon, but I have been thinking that I 
must tell you that my name — my legal name, is Miss 
Martin. Dear Captain John Martin adopted me after 
my father’s death, because I was alone and friendless. 
‘A stranger in a strange land,’ he always says. So I 
took his name. But everybody always persists in call- 
ing me Miss Allison.” 

Dr. LaTerette only waited politely, then went right 
on, “I wanted to speak to you about Edward.” 

Violet sat quietly attentive, but said not a word to 
help him on. Dr. LaTerette had not thought when 
he had planned what he should say that it would be 
so hard to say. “I — you know I believe — I have be- 
lived from the first, that Edward would be cured.” A 
look that seemed assent came into the violet eyes that 
never left his face, but still their owner said not a 
word. “Just how this cure was to be effected, I did 
not at first see, but now — ” still that interested, inquir- 
ing gaze, but not a word to help him. “But now — 

io8 


MEDDLING WITH CUPIHS AFFAIRS 109 

pardon me, Miss Allison, for speaking of a personal 
matter, I have Edward’s welfare so much at heart — ” 
An awkward pause. Violet did not ask him to go on, 
did not ask him anything, only quietly waited. Dr. 
LaTerette was painfully confused. “After the scene 
in the garden, — pardon me for mentioning it — I could 
not but believe that you loved Edward, love him more 
than as a sister, Miss Allison,” and now Dr. LaTerette 
was most earnest, “I believe love may be his salva- 
tion.” And now came the hardest thing he had to 
say, and he plunged into it desperately. “Edward’s 
condition makes him — makes him blunt to such in- 
fluences. I believe he has the largest, warmest heart, 
when once it is reached. Did he but know you loved 
him — I’m sure — I think it is not just like other cases, — 
I think — it has given me great hope that you — do you 
understand me?” 

“I think I do,” said Violet so quietly that Dr. La- 
Terette’s hopes sank. “I’m not sure the love I feel 
is more than a sister’s love. It is a great love.” She 
spoke simply and directly. “But I am so young, and I 
have no own brother. I am not sure it is other than 
a sister’s love ; I am not sure it would be right to give 
more than a sister’s love. But even were I sure, there 
is nothing for me to do now.” She said this with great 
decision. 

“Oh, I have thought it over so carefully, as Ed- 
ward’s physician and warm friend, may I advise 
you — ” 

She looked down the avenue of stately cocoa-palms 


I lo THE PROPHET OF MARTIN IQ UE 


and said, so low that Dr. LaTerette bent nearer to 
hear her, ‘‘I have a wiser adviser than you. Dr. La- 
Terette, and I have taken the matter to Him. He will 
direct me.” Then looking up at Dr. LaTerette, she 
saw he did not understand her. She hesitated, looked 
down the avenue again, then remembering the influence 
that in two short years of school-life in the United 
States had so taken hold of her life and character, she 
did one of the bravest things of her short life. Look- 
ing earnestly up at Dr. LaTerette she said slowly, 
reverently, “You do not know my friend and adviser, 
my kind elder brother, Jesus Christ? I try to do noth- 
ing without consulting Him. I want Him to regulate 
my actions. And He will help me in this, the most — 
puzzling place in my life so far. I have taken it to 
Him. I have fled to my refuge ! It will be all right.” 

Dr. LaTerette was embarrassed, astonished, speech- 
less. He wished her to go on, he longed to under- 
stand her. Yet he asked her no question. How could 
he? She spoke a language that was almost unintel- 
ligible to him. It had so little connection with the for- 
malism of his own religion that he scarcely understood 
her words, but he felt the force of her faith. He re- 
called so vividly her excited state in the garden, and 
her subsequent embarrassment; and contrasted it with 
her present quiet and poise. Some influence he did 
not understand had come in. Ah, words are empty 
things indeed, if they have not the content of reality. 
Her words would have meant nothing to him with- 
out this apparent result in her own feelings. Even 


MEDDLING WITH CUPIHS AFFAIRS iii 


with that aid, they meant but little to him. Nothing 
more was said on the subject; and as the days went 
on, he could not get away from that scene; nearly all 
of her words faded from his mind, and he would re- 
member her repose, her trust, her evident help in time 
of need, and then there would ring through his mind 
two phrases she had used, “J^sus Christ — my Refuge.” 
He fell to studying Violet, studying her every act and 
word, trying to fathom her motives, and listening to 
that voice saying over and over, ‘‘J^sus Christ — my 
Refuge.” 

For this study he had ample opportunity, for Heloise 
seemed to take a sudden fancy for her brother's com- 
pany in all their walks, and hours at home — at all 
times, and seemed almost to plan to throw Violet and 
Dr. LaTerette together. Her own attitude toward 
that gentleman changed just the least bit. It had just 
a suggestion of chilliness, just a little holding off, just 
a hint of reserve, that had not been in her manner be- 
fore. Dr. LaTerette did not understand it, but he 
feared he had shown something of his feeling, and that 
Heloise wished to discourage him. So he became more 
cautious in relation to her. He would not for the world 
take advantage of his position in the household, to 
force his society upon her. Could he have known the 
cause of the change, it would have saved months of 
painful misunderstanding. 

But how was he to know that Madame Petit had 
overheard a part of his conversation with Violet, and 
had misconstrued it. It was by the merest accident 


1 12 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQ UE 


Madame had seen them together, and noticed Dr. La- 
Terette's earnest, embarrassed manner; and who shall 
say that Madame’s business did not lead her near them ? 
And if she must go near them, why should she make 
a noise and disturb them ? She made no particular ef- 
fort to hear what they were saying, but she caught 
the word ‘'love’’ in Dr. LaTerette’s earnest tone, and 
then passed on. What if fate were favoring her, and 
the “consummation devoutly to be wished” were al- 
ready at hand. Surely if her business called her near 
them, she could be commended for waiting to hear no 
more than this scrap of conversation: “It has given 
me great hope that you — do you understand me ?” 

“I think I do. I’m not sure the love I feel is more 
than a sister’s love. It is a great love, but I am so 
young — ” Then Madame had passed on, quite satis- 
fied ; too well satisfied to keep the good news to herself. 
What more natural than that she should tell her 
daughter. Do Madame the justice to believe that she 
had not the shadow of a doubt that Dr. LaTerette had 
made ardent love to Violet, and that Violet had con- 
fessed her love for him. And so she told Heloise, who 
at first received the news incredulously, and then with 
such outward indifference that Madame smiled and told 
herself afterwards, she need never have been the least 
uneasy about Heloise. 

Heloise brought herself up sharply when she was 
alone, and told herself that of course it was so. It 
was the most natural thing in the world. She had 
been blind, and perhaps had often been in the way. 


MEDDLING WITH CUPlD^S AFFAIRS 113 

She remembered now, he had said he was in love ; and 
she smiled just a little bitterly for Edward’s sake, when 
she remembered Dr. LaTerette’s jealous fear had led 
him to fancy that Violet loved Edward. Heloise con- 
gratulated herself that she had positively refused to 
speak to Violet about it. Poor, dear Edward! Of 
course, Violet had not thought of such a thing. Well, 
Edward should never miss it. She’d always stay with 
him, love him better than any other woman could. 
And she’d see that Dr. LaTerette and Violet were 
thrown more together. Of course that would suit her 
better, to be with Edward more. A little pink came to 
her cheek as she remembered how frequently, of late, 
the arrangement had been the opposite. 

So in the days that followed, the days full of a new 
trouble to Madame, it was a constant comfort for her 
to see how frequently Violet and Dr. LaTerette were 
together, and how smoothly their courtship seemed to 
be going on. And all this without Madame being 
obliged to send Heloise abroad, which she felt she 
could not do now, with this new trouble and dread 
hanging over her. 

The trouble began that day she listened to the ac- 
count of Edward’s danger and rescue, and alarmed 
the narrators by fainting. That seemed the beginning 
of a failure in health. She grew more and more rest- 
less. The slightest noise would startle her. The digni- 
fied composure which had sat so becomingly on the 
handsome matron, was strongly shaken now. A look 
of fear came into her face. She would start violently 


1 14 THE PROPHET OF MARTIN IQ UE 

when suddenly addressed. The young doctor was con- 
sulted, and was asked if the older physician, Dr. Gra- 
tiot, should be called in. But here Madame asserted 
herself. No, indeed! She would by no means have 
Dr. Gratiot. Then Dr. LaTerette said he thought 
Madame was right, there was no need. He was sure 
he understood the case ; only a nervousness, and a slight 
giving down; not so unusual at Madame^s age. He 
would watch her carefully and prescribe for her; he 
had no doubt he should be able to manage the case. 
All this he said, because he understood Madame’s aver- 
sion to having Dr. Gratiot called in, and he was pro- 
foundly sorry for her. It had not escaped him on that 
first day that the stranger’s message had to do with 
Madame’s illness, nor did it escape his notice that when 
Louis Cordot carried that threat (for such he con- 
sidered the message) into effect and called on Madame, 
it threw her into a deplorable state of excitement. He 
noticed the tremendous strain she was under, when 
at that man’s second call, she introduced him to the 
younger members of her family. But he had yet to 
witness the almost superhuman effort of will by which 
she went through the ordeal of introducing Louis Cor- 
dot as an old friend, to her husband. And from the 
bottom of his heart he pitied her. He had admired 
Madame greatly ; her handsome face and fine carriage, 
her composure and dignity, her keen penetration and 
resourcefulness, her wisdom in managing her house- 
hold, her devotion to her family and her religion. 
And this change in her was piteous to see. What 


MEDDLING WITH CUPIHS AFFAIRS 115 

strange power did this man have over her? He could 
not conjecture. 

Not so Joan. She was now carrying the weight of 
a secret that she had discovered by the merest chance, 
and was taking the greatest pains to hover round 
Madame, and appear on all sorts of excuses when Louis 
Cordot was with her. That gentleman got the benefit 
of many a searching glance from her bright, black 
eyes, and truth to tell, he was a little afraid of the tall, 
handsome old mulattress. He could not tell why, but 
her fearless glance, that would never waver under his, 
gave him an uneasy feeling he could not shake off. He 
did not care for M. Petit’s haughty tolerance, or Vio- 
let’s cold reserve and evident aversion, and only un- 
covered his large upper teeth when Edward persisted in 
ignoring him, and the more persistently persecuted 
Madame; but he grew to dread the keen, unflinching 
gaze of Joan. 

She shared her secret with no one but the little St. 
Peter, which received an unusual amount of dusting 
and placing and replacing these days, from the neces- 
sity she felt of some one with whom to talk over this 
burdensome secret. That venerable image was true to 
the trust reposed in him, for he never breathed a word 
of it to the little St. Catherine that always stood near. 
After Joan had confided her secret to this safe con- 
fidant, she said : “Lan’ sake alibe ! What am a po’ 
da’ky gwine to do?” St. Peter, by his utter silence, 
seemed to indicate that her best plan was to keep 
silence; so she said, “Dat so, dat so! I specs ef Joan 


1 16 THE PROPHET OF MARTIN IQ UE 


keep he’ mouf shet, she am doin’ de bes’ ting fo’ 
Madame. But Joan doan haf to keep he’ eyes shet, 
not by a heap sight. No, no’ he’ ea’s neide’. I’s gwine 
to hang around, now yo’ ’pend on dat. An’ ef dat de- 
testful ramscallion do any ting in dis house dat Joan 
doan see, an’ say any ting dat Joan doan hea’, den I’s 
had my extry wits standin’ roun’ fo’ nuffin’ all dese 
yea’s.” 


CHAPTER XI 


''DE man OB DE FAMBLY^^ 

I S yo’ gwine to gib a felleh any chance to-day, 
Si’veste’, o’ is yo’ gwine to nab ebe’ting in sight?” 
Conrad, a mulatto of about twelve rounds of end- 
less summer, poised himself gracefully on one foot in 
his tiny skiff, looking, but for the head, like a bronze 
Hermes, just ready to start through the air on some 
mission for the gods. His tawny, bare limbs fairly 
glistened in the sun’s early rays. Bending his head 
with its thick mat of wool toward Silvestre, he de- 
scribed a circle with his oar about Silvestre’s face, and 
made a grotesque effort to bring his grinning counte- 
nance to a look of stern seriousness as he said this. 

Silvestre’s face, black as ebony, was serious enough, 
as he replied, ‘‘Naw ! yo’ mus’ jes mak yo’ own chance. 
Hain’ gwine to gib nobody no chance. Yo’ jes bet, I’s 
gwine to do my bes’ tell I git a noo canot. Hain’ eben 
gwine to gib de kid a chance to-day. Yo’ bette’ talk 
’bout a chance ! Jes look at dat bran noo, fine canot ob 
yo’n.” 

‘‘But hain’ she jes’ scrumptious now?” said Conrad, 
as he rotated slowly on one foot to let his admiring 
glance rest on every part of his treasure. “An’ dese 
ye’ oa’s! Gee! but dey jes spin ’er along lak she 
117 


1 18 THE PROPHET OF MARTIN IQ UE 


'us alibe." And he wound up his gymnastics with a 
fantastic flourish of his oars in the air. 

‘*Yo’s mighty proud ob 'er, an' yo's a right to be," 
said Silvestre. “An' now, effen yo' eyes ken stan’ de 
awful change, jes behol’ dis outlan'ish ole snuff-box I's 
in. An' den talk about gibin' yo' a chance; an' yo' a 
ridin' lak a prince in de fines' canot dat a boy ebe’ 
dibed f’um, when he seed de shinin' silbe' a spinnin' pas' 
'im, an' a cuttin' down into de wate’." 

Conrad, with a contemplative air, fastened his gaze 
on the rude box in which Silvestre squatted, motionless, 
holding his queer little square paddles in his hands, 
as if ready to start. “Trufe to tell, dat am bad enough," 
admitted he. 

“Bad enough!" echoed Silvestre contemptuously. 
“It am a shame an' a disgrace to ou' callin'. I tell yo' 
no gemman won't want to t'row his good money to see 
a brack boy dibe out o' no sech dingy, ole la’d-box as 
dis ye'." And yet time had been when Silvestre was 
proud of that queer little craft made from a shipping 
case, when it was fresh tarred and painted. 

“Mebbe not," said Conrad, “mebbe not," and his grin 
broadened with every word. “But dey's gwine to 
t'row their good money to see de brown boy dibe out o' 
his scrumptious noo canot, an' de brack boy in de ole 
la'd-box am gwine to git dat same money, case dat 
misfo'tunate brown boy hain' gwine to hab no chance 
'tall." 

“Chance!" reiterated Silvestre, “how much chance 
yo’ tink I's gwine to hab in de race July fo’teent’, lessen 


''DE MAN OB DE FAMBLY” 


119 

I gits sumfin’ bette’ to race in ^an dis ole ramshackle 

Conrad grinned but made no reply. Silvestre looked 
oceanward, then suddenly rose to his feet and peered 
out across the expanse of blue, blue waters, with a keen 
gaze. “Wish de kid 'ud hurry back,” he said. “I tink 
I see a speck ’way da in de fur off, a speck what am 
gwine to grow into a ship.” 

“Say ! Si’veste’,” said Conrad, “I’s ben wantin’ to ax 
yo’ sumfin’.” 

“Ax away,” said Silvestre, resuming his squatting 
position in his box of a boat. 

“I doan see why ’Poleon hab a canot an’ yo has dat 
ole fossil. Yo’ makes mo’ money’n him.” 

“Well, yo’ see. Con, it am jes lak dis, we couldn’ to 
sabe ou’ soul hab money ’nough to buy mo’n one, an’ 
ob cou’se, dat had to be de kid’s.” 

“Doan see dat ‘ob cou’se’; dat am jes what am 
bodderin’ me, dat ‘ob cou’se’ dat pea’ lak it hang roun’ 
yo’ an’ ’Poleon.” 

Suddenly Silvestre leaped like a frog into the water, 
and came up a moment later holding a coin in his hand. 
“Cla’ to goodness!” he said when he was back in his 
boat, “ef it hain’ a rainin’ money down f’um a cla’ sky. 
Now ’bout dat ‘ob cou’se’ ’at yo’ doan un’e’stan’, dat 
am jes case yo’ doan know how de man ob a fambly 
feel. Yo’ see, Ps de oldes’ son, and — ” 

“Aw ! what yo’ gibin us ? I knows yo’ an’ ’Poleon 
am twins.” 

“Cou’se! But I’s de oldes’ twin; an’ sense de ole 
man done lef’ us, doan yo’ see dat so’te’ mak me de man 


120 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


ob de fambly? An' I has to he'p mammy pervide fu' 
de younge' chillen.” 

Suddenly another coin, thrown from the shore, spun 
over their heads and dropped into the water beyond 
them. Both boys dived for it, but Silvestre had been on 
the alert, and was an instant sooner than his compan- 
ion ; so the coin was his. This time, both boys glanced, 
with a gesture of acknowledgment, to the shore. Sil- 
vestre held the coin high with a little flourish, while 
Conrad spread out his two empty hands in a depreca- 
tory way. 

Dr. LaTerette and Edward Petit, at whom this pan- 
tomime was directed, smiled, and the former beckoned 
for the boys to come nearer. They had for some time 
been standing on the edge of the very narrow strip of 
beach sand which borders the harbor at St. Pierre, and 
watching with intense interest these two representatives 
of a peculiarly picturesque species of Martinique work- 
ing boy, 'ti canotie*. They had admired Conrad’s agile 
grace and smiled over the parts of the conversation 
which they had been able to hear. Dr. LaTerette, 
pleased to find Edward so interested in this safe topic, 
had plied him with questions concerning the class, con- 
cerning these two boys in particular, and concerning 
their annual contest on the fourteenth of July, and had 
himself suggested that they see the contest, and that 
they offer an extra prize to these boys. He had thrown 
the coins to longer hold Edward’s interest, and now 
summoned the boys for the same reason. 

‘Where is Napoleon, Silvestre?” said Edward. 


''DE MAN OB DE FAMBLY’^ 


121 


‘‘He am practicin’ fu’ — hea’ he am.” 

Napoleon’s little skiff came skimming toward them 
and Napoleon’s brown face beamed at them from its 
circlet of tawny curls, which in the sunlight would 
almost answer to his mother’s appellation, “yalle’ hai’.” 
While yet some distance out, he dived from his boat in 
front and quickly reappeared, regaining his position in 
the boat from the rear. So quick and agile were his 
movements that he almost seemed to have turned a 
double somersault, passing under and alighting in his 
boat from the other side. 

“Bravo !” cried Dr. LaTerette. 

“That was his bow,” said Edward. “Rather pro- 
found, wasn’t it ?” 

“About two fathoms deep,” replied Dr. LaTerette, 
laughing. 

“My best French bow would be no fitting response to 
that, so I’ll proclaim our interest in the fourteenth. 
Boys, do you intend to take part in the contest the four- 
teenth of July?” 

In reply a babel of “Sa’tain sho !” “Dat’s what we 
is !” “Ob cou’se, M’sieu’.” 

“M. Petit and I wish to see that contest and the ladies 
will come, too.” Here Dr. LaTerette looked doubt- 
fully at Edward, but receiving a nod of assent from 
him he went on, “And M. Edward offers an extra prize 
to the one of you three that takes the first or second 
place in that contest. It will be a prize worth trying 
for.” 

The three boys would doubtless have tossed up their 


122 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


hats and yelled, if they had had hats, but lacking these 
necessary adjuncts to that kind of applause, they ex- 
pressed their appreciation in diverse ways. Conrad 
danced a jig in his boat, grinning broadly and flourish- 
ing his oars fantastically. Napoleon pushed a little 
farther from the shore and somersaulted to all points of 
the compass. But Silvestre remained quite motionless, 
gazing at M. Petit with big, wondering eyes, and said 
slowly, ‘‘Gee — whillikims golly! Dat am a mighty 
filliantropical ’cision. My saints! effen I could only 
hab a noo canot fu’ de fo’teenth’ !” 

“You hope to make money enough to-day to buy a 
canot}” queried Edward. 

“Effen I has luck, I tinks — See, see, boys !” he broke 
off. “I tink it am de big line’. Come on !” 

“Come when your day’s work is over, Silvestre,” 
Edward called after him, “and let me know about the 
money for your canot. And perhaps — ” 

“All right, M’sieu’,” called Silvestre. And they 
were skimming over the waters towards the big ship, 
shouting, “De big line’, de big line’!” And the big 
liner it proved to be. 

Another canotie joined them and another, then a 
group of naked divers, ten to thirteen years old, black, 
brown and yellow, moved out to meet the ship. When 
they reached it, they surrounded it, circled round and 
round it, crossing and recrossing. The swiftness of 
the tiny crafts, skimming like winged things over the 
blue, blue waves, scarcely seeming to touch them; the 
grace of the bare arms gleaming in the sunshine as they 


"DE MAN OB DE FAMBLT* 


123 


wielded the unerring paddles ; the perfect symmetry and 
rhythm of the concerted movement made a picture not 
to be forgotten. It was the poetry of motion. 

Presently began an intermittent shower of small coin 
from the deck of the vessel. Then it was evident that 
the little oarsmen were commercial, as well as artistic 
animals. As each coin would cut its way into the blue 
depth, these amphibious creatures would spring from 
their boats as lightly, and dive into the water as nat- 
urally, as any other animal of that class, and would 
move through the water with an ease and grace that 
might make a member of the finny tribe green with 
envy. From all points they darted, straight as an 
arrow to the point where the coin glistened, their bodies 
taking on strange tints of red and brown in the water. 
A little scramble ensued, and then they rose to the sur- 
face. The victor’s arm was thrust high to display the 
coin which he held in his fingers, and which he then 
swallowed apparently ; but since he was afterwards able 
to produce it from his mouth, it is to be presumed he 
only stowed it there for safe keeping. Then they re- 
gained their little boats which had an incomprehensible 
way of being ready to hand when wanted, and they 
were ready for the next coin. 

Dr. LaTerette and Edward Petit watched this scene 
for some time, or what they could see of it from the 
beach, then turned and sauntered home to find the ladies 
and to speak of their plan for the fourteenth. 

‘‘But the fourteenth of July is Sunday!” said Violet. 

“What of it?” asked Dr. LaTerette, innocently. 


124 the prophet of MARTINIQUE 


'That will not prevent the contest/^ said Edward. 

"But it will prevent our going to see it,’’ said Violet, 
quietly. 

"Not at all ! We shall all go. I’m sure I shall be 
delighted to see it,” Heloise hastened to say in a posi- 
tive, half defiant way, stepping over to Edward’s chair, 
resting her hand on his shoulder and looking at Violet 
with a look that seemed to say, "don’t you dare to offer 
resistance to this little scheme in which Edward is in- 
terested !” 

Dr. LaTerette looked slightly annoyed. He glanced 
somewhat anxiously at Edward, then said, "We should 
be very sorry. Miss Violet, to lose you from the party ; 
but Edward and I are so interested in this that I think 
we could not give it up.” 

There was a little appealing .emphasis on the word 
"Edward” and a pained expression crossed Violet’s 
face, but she said in a quiet, unwavering way, that re- 
called very vividly to Madame the way Mr. Allison used 
to speak, "I am very sorry. I should like to see the 
contest, but I cannot go on Sunday.” 

"Then we shall go without you,” said Heloise, cold- 
ly, positively. 

"Certainly,” Violet replied in a relieved tone. "I 
should not wish to — ” 

"No,” interrupted Edward slowly, if Violet does not 
approve I think I’d rather give it up.” 

"We’ll do no such thing!” said Heloise instantly, 
giving Violet another look that said plainly, "Now! 
see what you’ve done !” "No, Edward, you and mamma. 


125 


MAN OB DE FAMBLY^' 

Dr. LaTerette and I — ” Just an instant's awkward 
pause while a faint blush crept up into her cheeks at 
her unconscious coupling of names, then she went on, 
‘‘Well, perhaps we’d better give it up. I think after all 
we shouldn’t want to go without Violet.” 

“Of course not,” said Madame. “Violet is quite 
right, and Edward is right to respect her wishes. But 
I have thought of a plan — since the day is the objection 
— why not choose another day, enlist those boys you 
gentlemen are so particularly interested in, offer your 
prizes and have a private contest, all your own?” 

“The very thing!” exclaimed Heloise, gleefully. 
“Trust mamma to straighten out all our tangled trou- 
bles beautifully.” 

So it was arranged that they should have their pri- 
vate contest the Tuesday following the public, and Sil- 
vestre, Napoleon and Conrad should be the contestants. 
Edward was to speak to Silvestre about it when he came 
to report on the work. But when Silvestre came, 
Edward was engaged, and he had to wait a short time. 
Dr. LaTerette improved the opportunity to ask a ques- 
tion called forth by what he had seen and heard in the 
morning. “How does it happen, Silvestre, that you 
get more coins than Napoleon and Conrad? They 
seem to be as active and swift as you.” 

“Dat so,” said Silvestre, “but yo’ see, M’sieu’, it am 
jes lak it am in any odde’ business, jes a matte’ o’ 
ten’in’ strictly to biz.” 

“I don’t understand,” said Dr. LaTerette. 

“Well, ’Poleon an’ Conrad dey wo’k jes as good 


126 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE ' 


wid deir ban's as I does, but dey doan wo'k ha'd wid 
deir eyes an' deir 'tention. I jes tentions my business 
all de time, an' effen de sky 'us to fall, my eyes 'ud 
nebe' leabe dat man what's gwine to t'row de nex' piece 
o' money." 

“Ah, I see," said Dr. LaTerette, “simply a matter of 
close application." Silvestre looked mystified. “A 
matter of close-stick-to-itiveness," corrected Dr. La- 
Terette. 

“Dat am right!" assented Silvestre. “Jes stick-to- 
itiveness." 

“Well, Silvestre, how was luck to-day?" inquired 
Edward, who was just entering the room. 

“No luck 'tall 1" replied Silvestre. “I'd a done bette' 
ef I hadn' done so good." 

Both gentlemen smiled at this paradox, but Edward 
said encouragingly, “Tell us about it, Silvestre." 

“Well, yo' see, I wants dat noo canot pow'fu' bad, an' 
I 'us a doin' my lebel bes' at de big line', an' I 'us 
nabbin' mo'n anybody ; tell a man on de deck — he 'us a 
young fellah all in white, wid a cane an' spectickles 
what 'us jes pasted on, called out an' said, ‘Dat big 
brack fellah am a 'nopolis'. We doan t'row no mo' 
money lessen he withdraw.' I axed 'im what 'us wid- 
draw, an' he said, ‘not be in it.' An' odde's dey say 
so too, an' — " with a sigh, “afte' dat, wid de odde' ships 
'pea'd lak I 'us kind o' 'scouraged an' los' my luck. So 
I hain' got a sou fo' de boat ; and mammy she gwine to 
be 'scouraged too, case I hain' got's much as common 
fu' de fambly. Now I doan know what a 'nopolis' is, 


''DE MAN OB DE FAMBLY^ 


127 


but I doan bleabes I is one. But den yo’ see/^ with a 
forgiving little sigh, ‘^de cane and spectickles man he 
didn’ un’e’stan’. He didn’ know I ’us a man ob de 
fambly.” 

Edward hastened to unfold to this discouraged man 
of a family their plan for the private contest, then said, 
‘‘And of course we want you to have a fair chance, so 
I shall lend you a boat. It shall be one of the best, and 
you shall have it at once, so you can practice in it and 
become familiar with its use.” 

Silvestre’s eyes had become bigger and bigger, and 
now he said, “Fs pow’fu’ glad yo’ hain’ got no cane and 
spectickles.” 

Edward smiled at this irrelevant remark and slipping 
a little money into Silvestre’s hand, said, “You’ll see 
the other boys for us and help arrange this, and that 
will pay you for it.” 

All the boy’s buoyant spirits had returned, and in a 
burst of confidence he exclaimed, “Say! I doan spect 
my mudde’ always to be a washerwoman. Naw, guess 
I doan ! I spects he’ to hab a little shop some day, lak 
Ma’am Ursin.” 

“That’s right, my boy,” replied Edward. And a 
very happy, very rich and very hopeful “man ob de 
fambly” went hurrying home. 

St. Pierre’s fairest weather crowned the day of the 
contest. The sunlight of a cloudless southern day 
brought out all the wondrous coloring of blue sea, 
bright city, green mornes and distant blue and gray 
peaks. Mont Pelee on that morning left off his hood 


128 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


of cloud much longer than was his wont, and reared 
his bare head above the surrounding landscape in 
rugged grandeur. 

The hour for the contest had come, and on a little 
barque anchored in the bay for their use was the party 
of spectators. Alfonse Bethune and his sister had been 
invited, and Heloise, by representing how perfectly en- 
grossed in this entertainment Edward was, had finally 
prevailed on her father to leave his business long 
enough to see it. M. Petit, therefore, now sat apart 
with Madame watching, with a gratified expression, the 
half dozen young people who leaned on the railing and 
chatted as they watched the launching of the tiny boats. 
Monsieur’s eyes had been on Edward for fully ten min- 
utes, and not once in that time had he seen his son even 
so much as glance at Mont Pelee. But he sat in care- 
less, easy pose, now glancing at the intensely blue 
waters and the vessels in the roadstead, now looking 
at Louise Bethune, to whom he was explaining the 
nature of the contest. They were first to have a con- 
test in picking coins, and first, second and third prizes 
were to be awarded. The first prize was to be given 
to the boy who secured the greatest number of coins; 
the second to the boy who, aside from first winner, had 
the greatest amount of money ; the third to the one next 
to him in amount. The varying value of the coins 
would make the last two somewhat a matter of chance. 
Then there was to be a boat race, and again first, second 
and third prizes were to be awarded. This would pro- 
vide that each contestant should have a prize. 


MAN OB DE FAMBLY^ 


129 


“You are like Virgil,” interrupted Mile. Bethune. 
“You give a prize to the unsuccessful one to take off 
the sting of defeat. But there are more than three 
contestants.” 

“Yes, there are five; Napoleon and Conrad begged 
that their brothers, only ten years old, might be allowed 
to take part. But, of course, nothing will be expected 
of them. They are only beginners.” 

Just then the boys drew themselves up in line some 
distance from the observers’ ship with the two little 
boys in front, and Conrad in the rear. The boats had 
no oar-sockets and no seats, but the rowers squatted 
and the movement of their bare arms in rowing was 
strangely dexterous and graceful. Silvestre left the 
line, and coming near said, “M. Edwa’d, we has prac- 
ticed a figge’ effen you ail’d like to see it.” 

“Certainly,” replied Edward, without hesitating, 
though he did not at all know what was meant. “Ladies 
and gentlemen, the performance will begin with a 
‘figge’.’ Attention !” 

Silvestre had regained his position in the line, and at 
a signal from him the five tiny crafts all started at the 
same instant. The two small boys turning, one to the 
right and the other to the left, circled round toward the 
ship, met, passed, circled round again and met, so that 
the course of the two boats together traced a figure 
eight. At the same time, Silvestre and Napoleon, 
starting to the right and left, traced an oval, including 
the course of the smaller boats, and met and passed still 
nearer the ship. All four of these boats made the most 


130 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


graceful, perfect curves, while at the same time about 
their courses, Conrad, the swift, with lines as straight 
as an arrow, and turns at right angles, traced a rec- 
tangle. 

Four times was this course traced and retraced, and 
so perfectly timed were the movements, that each time 
they reached the end of the course nearest the spectators 
the boats all passed at once, so that for one instant the 
five were in direct line. Just at that instant, the two 
smaller boys stood in their boats, Conrad rose, poised 
himself on one foot and gave his oars a fantastic flour- 
ish, while Silvestre and Napoleon dived and exchanged 
boats. All this without any apparent change in the 
speed of the boats. When they had done this the 
fourth time, they instantly drew up in line in front of 
the spectators and dropped their paddles to signify that 
the figure was finished. 

In response to the hearty round of applause from the 
ship, Conrad rose and executed his fantastic dance, 
just as if he were on a level floor, and his boat scarcely. 
seemed to move beneath him. To the applause which 
followed this, Napoleon responded with his double 
somersault. Then they immediately arranged them- 
selves in a semicircle and were ready for the coin throw. 
But in this it was soon evident that it was an unequal 
contest, in which Silvestre easily led. 

‘'Which do you prefer should get this prize?” asked 
Mile. Bethune. 

“Well, you know Napoleon is my favorite,” replied 
Edward, smiling. “Has been since I was a little boy 


''DE MAN OB DE FAMBLY^' 131 

and he a baby. I should like to see him get one first 
prize.” 

“Oh, I like the laughing, dancing Conrad,” said 
Heloise. 

“But I should be sorry,” interrupted Violet, “for 
black Silvestre not to get one first prize.” 

“No danger for him,” laughed Dr. LaTerette. “I’m 
only hoping he will not sweep stakes.” 

When half the coins were thrown and they stopped 
for a little rest, Conrad and Napoleon each had four, 
Silvestre six, and Silvestre’s little brother had one, 
which he had mysteriously taken, right under Silves- 
tre’s nose. 

When the throwing was continued, it was still Sil- 
vestre’s black hand, oftener than any other, that was 
thrust up to display the captured coin. Finally, but 
three more coins were to be thrown, and it was now a 
fight for second prize. 

“Come, father,” said Edward, “you must throw these 
last coins.” 

M. Petit stepped forward and smilingly waved aside 
the proffered coins, drawing one from his pocket, and 
even before it was thrown, the boys could see the gleam 
of gold. 

At that instant Conrad said in sharp, frightened 
tones, “ ’Poleon ! a sha’k ! a sha’k !” 

Even as he said it he dived for the coin that was 
just then thrown. 

Napoleon glanced behind him in terror, but saw only 
the kindly blue waters, his natural element. Then he 


132 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

understood ! But in that instant^s look, he had lost his 
chance. Silvestre dived desperately, but a fraction of 
a second too late, for, sure of the first prize, he had 
meant to give the other two full sweep on these last 
few coins. When Conrad came up, the gold gleamed 
in his fingers, but Silvestre, close to him, was saying 
between set teeth, ‘‘Cheat ! Does yo’ tink Si’vest’e can’t 
git eben wid yo’ ?” 

Not for an instant did Silvestre remove his eyes from 
M. Petit and straight as an arrow he darted to where 
the next gold coin gleamed in the water. But it was 
not Conrad this time who was near to snatching the 
coin from Silvestre, but Conrad’s little brother, the only 
one who had not yet secured a coin. No time to con- 
sider and weigh consequences. Instantly, Silvestre’s 
black hand was placed over the smaller brown one and 
he closed the small fingers about the coveted coin. 
When they rose to the surface, the brown hand was 
held high with the gold coin in it, and Silvestre said, as 
if he would defy contradiction, “Dat ’us a fine dibe fu’ 
de young-un! A fine dibe!” As he spoke he stole 
one glance at Napoleon. He was not quite himself yet. 
Conrad had reckoned well on his great terror of sharks. 

The last throw, and again it is gold in M. Petit’s 
hand! But this time, after a scramble, it was Sil- 
vestre’s black hand in which it gleamed. He had the 
greatest number of coins, the greatest amount of 
money, and had won first prize. But he was not 
happy, for Napoleon had nothing, not even third prize; 
the one piece of gold had given that to the “young-un.” 


*^DE MAN OB DE FAMBLY^' 133 

‘‘Is there any chance for Napoleon in the race?” in- 
quired Violet, wistfully. 

“I fear not,” said Edward. “Conrad is the swiftest 
cam tie on these waters. He won the prize in the pub- 
lic contest, you remember.” 

But as they lined up for the race, Silvestre said to 
Napoleon, “Do yo’ bes', Toleon ; yo’s gwine to git fi’st 
prize dis time. But save yo^ bes’ rowin^ fu^ de home 
run.” For the race included a turn, and their starting 
point was also to be their goal. 

At a signal, the five boats all started together. Al- 
most immediately, however, the two younger boys are 
left behind, and soon one boat gradually but surely 
pulls ahead. It is Conrad’s. Now he is a full boat’s 
length ahead of Napoleon, who is rowing behind nobly ; 
but what is the matter with Silvestre? Gradually he 
is losing ground, and there is now quite a space between 
Napoleon’s boat and his. 

“Would Silvestre have done better in his old boat ?” 
asked Violet anxiously. But Edward’s eyes were 
riveted on the rowers and he made no reply. 

“Look at your sweep-stakes, Dr. LaTerette!” said 
Heloise, laughingly. 

“I fancy he is doing that to give Napoleon second 
prize,” replied Dr. LaTerette. 

“What a beautiful turn!” cried Heloise. “Conrad 
has it. Nothing can beat him now I” 

“See the little fellows, neck to neck !” said Alphonse 
Bethune. 

But in silence Edward watched the three chief con- 


134 the prophet OF MARTINIQUE 

testants, Napoleon just making the turn, Conrad a few 
feet on his return, and Silvestre yet lacking several feet 
of the turn. 

What has happened ? Conrad has lost an oar ! Sil- 
vestre is handing him one of his! But it has delayed 
him slightly, and Napoleon is almost abreast with him. 
Only Edward saw the collision — saw Silvestre’s studied 
awkwardness which caused him to strike Conrad’s oar 
with his own as they met, and knocked it from his hand. 
Conrad has made half the distance, and Napoleon is 
now abreast. Exactly together they race for the re- 
maining distance. Conrad is straining every nerve. 
Ah ! now he is a shade ahead 1 Almost home, and Na- 
poleon is second 1 No ! See him settle an inch lower 
in the boat, bend his tawny head a little forward, and 
with smooth, powerful strokes, dart forward past the 
goal — victor by half a boat’s length ! 

But what has happened behind ? No one knows ; but 
it is not Silvestre in his new, beautiful, borrowed boat, 
but his little brother in Silvestre’s queer old box who 
next reaches the goal, and so wins the third prize. And 
Silvestre ingloriously comes in fourth, the much de- 
feated, but radiantly happy ‘^Man ob de fambly.” 


CHAPTER XII 


THE MANIAC OF ST. PIERRE 

H igh carnival in St. Pierre. Mid-afternoon of 
the crowning day of the carnival. A hot, dull 
afternoon in February, 1902. The clouds that 
had massed about Mont Pelee’s head in the morning 
had spread and thickened, and now they shut out the 
sun. But no heed was given to the weather by the gay 
maskers, and the gay or curious spectators that 
thronged the Rue Victor Hugo and the cross streets 
that climbed the slopes so rapidly as to require in some 
places steps for ascent and descent. 

Just where the Rue Peysette comes into the Rue 
Victor Hugo, and commanding a view of both streets, 
stood Edward Petit and Dr. LaTerette, watching the 
throngs that moved down the cross street to the prin- 
cipal thoroughfare, and those that on that street 
awaited the spectacle, and listening to the drums in the 
distance and the confused noises of the nearer crowds. 
Dr. LaTerette all the time struggled to keep up a con- 
versation with his companion, sometimes raising his 
voice to an unusual pitch, trying to keep Edward from 
overhearing the remarks of some passerby. ‘‘That is 
the maniac of St. Pierre,” one had just said. But if 
Edward had heard it he gave no sign. 

13s 


136 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


Gazing over the surging mixture of bright colors, 
pinks and blues, reds and yellows, and listening to the 
medley of cries and shrieks, jests and laughter, he said, 
‘‘Better would they change their bright garments for 
sack-cloth, their laughter for tears, and their jests for 
penitential prayers. Mont Pelee has on his darkest 
frown to-day. He smiles not on the graceless car- 
nival.’^ 

Dr. LaTerette turned to the bright scene to select 
some triviality to which he might direct Edward’s 
thoughts, and get them out of this gloomy channel. 
But they were interrupted by Louis Cordot, who had 
come up just in time to hear Edward’s last remark, and 
note the mood he was in. But giving no apparent heed 
to this, he said hurriedly and in a low tone, “Ah, Dr. 
LaTerette ! The first physician I have been able to lay 
my eyes on. I suppose you couldn’t be prevailed on to 
go around to the Rue Long Champs, to the house of old 
Fabette. You know where that is?” 

“Yes.” 

“A rather sad accident occurred there a moment ago, 
and a physician is greatly needed. Will you come? 
Or — ” glancing meaningly at Edward, “I will stay 
until you return.” 

Dr. LaTerette hurried toward old Fabette’s, an- 
noyed that he had been obliged to leave Edward with 
Louis Cordot. He had an ever increasing suspicion of 
that personage, but he had been able to discover noth- 
ing more definite than that he had some power over 
Madame Petit, who certainly loathed and dreaded him. 


THE MANIAC OF ST. PIERRE 


137 


but who gave him a place in her family as of an inti- 
mate friend. This place he would certainly never have 
gained without her aid. Edward, in the months that 
followed this man’s introduction to the family, con- 
tinued to ignore him, until Madame one day in trepida- 
tion and evident embarrassment, asked him to accept 
M. Cordot as an acquaintance for her sake. Even then 
Edward’s acceptance of him was only a haughty tol- 
erance. Violet’s cold reserve and thinly-veiled dislike 
was thawed by the same means. Violet had a strong, 
grateful sense of what Madame had done for her, and 
would have done almost anything in her power in re- 
turn. It took an unusual effort on her part to bring 
herself to grant Madame’s request, but the moment she 
had done so, Louis Cordot had a marked influence over 
her. Whether it was the surrender of her own will in 
accordance with Madame’s request, or whether there 
was something about the man that gave him this in- 
fluence, when the barrier of cold reserve was once 
broken down. Dr. LaTerette could not determine. He 
thought of all this as he sought the house of old Fa- 
bette, and he fumed inwardly as he came back, after 
finding no trace of an accident. His wrath reached boil- 
ing point when he returned to the corner where he had 
left Edward and Louis Cordot, and did not find them 
there. The masked dancers were now in the Rue Victor 
Hugo, and so packed were the spectators, it was im- 
possible to move with speed. Why did he ever leave 
Edward with his enemy? That Louis Cordot was his 
enemy he could not doubt. He was responsible for 


138 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

those remarks overheard that afternoon. ’Twas he 
had branded Edward ‘‘The Maniac of St. Pierre.” 

When Dr. LaTerette hurried away in quest of old 
Fabette’s house, M. Cordot’s teeth were uncovered in 
that peculiar smile, a strange accompaniment to a re- 
flection on his deed of mercy just completed ! Then he 
suggested to Edward a change of position. They 
moved on down the Rue Victor Hugo for some dis- 
tance, until M. Cordot was suited in position. 

Neither of them had noticed a tall, masked figure, as 
silent as the grave, dogging their footsteps, listening 
to the conversation at the corner, and gliding silently 
and swiftly away as soon as Dr. LaTerette had left 
them. This was Joan. Her hatred for Louis Cordot 
had grown with every hour since her discovery of the 
secret of his power over Madame. She now hurried 
home, summoned Violet, and said in an excited tone, 
“Missy Biolet, de debil hab got Edwa’d in tow 1 ” 

“What do you mean, Joan?” 

“Louis Cordot! He am wid Edwa’d; an’ I doan 
like his look. Missy Biolet ; I doan like his look.” 

“What could be done, Joan? Where is Dr. LaTer- 
ette?” 

“Dat Cordot sent ’im away.” 

“Where is M. Petit?” 

“No, no. Missy Biolet, M. Petit must not be ’sturbed 
’bout dis!” Joan’s views had evidently changed since 
she had run counter to Madame’s plans, and read the 
riot act to M. Petit about Edward. “Missy Biolet, I’ll 
perteck yo’ ! Doan yo’ tink I’s too old fo’ dat 1 An* 


THE MANIAC OF ST. PIERRE 


139 


yo’ go an’ fetch Edwa’d home. Case — ” in an impres- 
sive tone, ‘‘Edwa’d am gittin’ bad. I tell yo’ he am 
gettin’ po’fu’ bad ! Dey’s no tellin’ what he might do.” 

Meanwhile, M. Cordot, suited with their location, 
procured a cask and setting it on one end, said, “Now 
that is a good view-point.” When Edward stood on 
it, his attention was drawn from the crowd to the view 
that opened to him down the steep cross street, sea- 
ward. Through the opening, he looked down on the 
roofs of houses on the lower street, on to a part of the 
harbor, and on to where the blue of sea blended with 
the blue of sky. 

This diversion of Edward’s thoughts suited not his 
companion, so he said, “What were you saying about 
Mont Pelee when I came up ?” 

Edward’s eyes turned from the sea to Mont Pelee, 
and gazed long at its green slope and cloud-enveloped 
height. “I’ll venture the assertion,” said M. Cordot, 
“that you and I are the only ones in this crowd who 
are giving any heed to Mont Pelee.” Edward’s eyes 
came back from Mont Pelee to the surging, swaying 
crowd, then back to the mountain, and the smouldering 
fires were behind his eyes. 

“You look as if you might be up there to speak to 
this mad crowd. They need some one to speak to 
them. M. Cordot was watching Edward narrowly, 
and went on, insinuatingly, “It has always seemed to 
me that you were just the one to warn people of their 
danger.” 

“Has it ?” said Edward quietly, still looking at Mont 


140 THE PROPHET OF MARTIN IQ UE 

Pelee, but a strange look was coming into his face. “It 
has long seemed to me so.’* 

Louis Cordot smiled again, that scornful half-smile, 
and said in a low tone, “Then why don’t you? Are 
you a coward?” 

Edward did not glance at him, but replied, “No, I 
am not a coward ; but I wasn’t sure the time had come.” 

Then M. Cordot, very low, “It would seem to me 
the very time.” 

A moment later Edward’s voice rang out clear and 
rich, deep and intense in this sentence, “Give ear, O ye 
heavens, and I will speak!” All within reach turned 
to see him standing head and shoulders above the 
crowd, looking about with those great, lustrous eyes. 
His face was pale and thin and drawn, but a beautiful 
face glowing, — alive with the feeling that possessed 
his soul. And yet the face would not long hold the 
attention. It only made a setting for those wondrous 
eyes. The old smouldering fires no longer smouldered. 
The eyes gleamed; they flashed; they moved quickly, 
marvelously quick, from one face to another in the 
crowd ; but so keen was that momentary glance that the 
person on whom it fell seemed the especial one to whom 
the fiery words were addressed. Few recognized those 
words, or any that followed, as Scripture words. Ed- 
ward himself seemed to pour out the Scripture language 
without being aware it was not his own, so thoroughly 
had he made his own, certain passages in the Old Testa- 
ment. “Give ear, O ye people, for I must speak 1 Yon 
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THE MANIAC OF ST, PIERRE 141 

breath while I speak, while I warn you of the destruc- 
tion that walketh at noonday. ‘I hate, I despise your 
feast days ! Take thou away from me the noise of thy 
songs!' You dance, you sing, but Hark! Hear ye not 
afar the thunder of Mont Pelee's artillery? Feel ye 
not that the earth trembles with the rolling of his 
chariot wheels? 'Tis his chariot of fire that shall roll 
down this valley with its fury of destruction. Oh, will 
ye not be warned? St. Pierre must be a clean city. 
Her people must cleanse their lives, if they would stay 
the mighty hurricane that would sweep them away. 
Ask me not wherein ye must cleanse your lives. Ye 
know ! The good man is perished out of the earth, and 
there is none upright among men. The land shall be 
desolate because of them that dwell therein, for the 
fruit of their doings,' unless ye cleanse your ways. 
‘Seek good and not evil, that ye may live.' Oh, have 
there not been warnings enough? Think of Sodom 
and Gomorrah. The Lord rained on Sodom and 
Gomorrah brimstone and fire, and he overthrew those 
cities, and that which grew upon the ground, and lo, 
the smoke of the country went up as the smoke of the 
furnace.' So shall it be with St. Pierre, if her people 
are like the people of Sodom and Gomorrah. Think 
of Pompeii, that beautiful, wicked city, destroyed in a 
night. Ay! They danced and sang, they would not 
hear any warning voice ; they had their feasts and their 
barbarous shows, and their sins uncounted. Then 
darkness, blackness, death and destruction, and no way 
of escape ! So it will be with St. Pierre, if she will not 


142 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

cleanse her ways. ‘And when they shall say peace and 
safety, then sudden destruction cometh upon them.^ 
As it was with Lisbon in 1755. As it was with Port 
Royal in Jamaica in 1692. Ay! they would hear no 
warning 1 They shared the ill-gotten spoils of the buc- 
caneers, they rolled in wealth, they danced and feasted 
and cursed, they loved their wealth and their wine, they 
feared not God. They even encroached on the mighty 
sea with their puny city of wealth, and felt as safe as 
you do here. Then that awful, breathless, hot noon- 
day, when the sea opened her depths and swallowed up 
the half of that city with all its treasures, the half of its 
inhabitants with all their sins ! So it will be with St. 
Pierre, unless her people cleanse their lives. ‘Let 
judgment run down as waters, and righteousness as a 
mighty stream," that ye may be safe. ‘For the Lord 
cometh forth out of his place, and will come down and 
tread upon the high places of the earth, and the moun- 
tains shall be molten under Him, as wax before the fire, 
and as the waters that are poured down a steep place. 
The mountains quake at Him, and the hills melt. His 
fury is poured out like fire, and the rocks are thrown 
down by Him." Oh, if ye would escape this fate, 
then — "" 

Just here a small, soft hand clasped Edward’s and a 
soft, low voice said, “Edward dear, I came out with 
John; but won’t you take me home?” 

The sacrifice Violet had made to come through that 
noisy, jesting throng with no attendant but Joan, made 
this plea a real one. Edward looked down on her with 


THE MANIAC OF ST, PIERRE 


143 


his keen glance, then paused, passed his free hand 
back over his pale, knitted brow and waving hair, once, 
twice, thrice, with the old childish motion. The glow 
faded from his face, the fires in his eyes subsided, and, 
stepping down beside Violet, he said, in a low, troubled 
tone, “Violet, you here! Didn’t you know this was 
no place for you? Come, we will go home at once.” 
And taking her arm, he led her skillfully out of the 
throng, and by the quietest way home. 

Joan followed behind, communing with her thoughts : 
“Now ef dat mean ramscallion hain’ skedaddled! No 
wha’ to be seed ! Hurry up, Joan. Ef he hain’ a per- 
riscutin’ Madame it am case he hab foun’ some debil- 
isher job.” 

When they had traversed about half the distance they 
met M. Petit hurrying on, with a pale, drawn face, and 
firm, set mouth. “Father !” Edward’s voice had alarm 
in it. He had not often seen his father look so. 

“O, Edward ! It is you !” in a tone of great relief. 
“Hurry on home, your mother will be lonely. I shall 
come later.” And M. Petit walked on with swift step, 
his eyes bent on the ground, his brow contracted in a 
deep frown. 

But Madame was not alone, and it was a much worse 
feeling than loneliness that possessed her. When Louis 
Cordot had called early in the afternoon, and had found 
M. and Mme. Petit together, he had left with some 
word about wishing to see Dr. LaTerette; but he gave 
Madame one glance at leaving that made her fear she 
was not done with him for that day. When he re- 


144 the prophet OF MARTINIQUE 

turned later, after Edward was launched on his speech, 
it had not surprised Madame. He had remarked care- 
lessly that he had seen Dr. LaTerette, that he had 
also seen Edward, who was making public his views on 
Mont Pelee, and in a fiery speech was telling the people 
of their wickedness. Then he had remarked, with a 
show of concern, that he feared it was hardly safe to 
tell that mob of merry-makers of their sins. When 
Monsieur Petit had risen hastily to depart, Madame 
had begged to accompany him, and he had coldly re- 
fused to have her expose herself to such discomfort; 
but divining vaguely her reason for wishing to go, had 
turned to Cordot and said pointedly, ‘Wou will, I am 
sure, excuse Mme. Petit and myself and come at 
another time.” 

To this Louis Cordot had assented with alacrity and 
left with M. Petit, though in leaving had turned his 
face to Madame with an unusual display of upper teeth, 
and she had sunk into her great, noiseless rocker to 
await his coming back. Then she had bethought her 
to summon Violet, but Violet was not to be found. 
And as ever, Madame carefully avoided having Heloise 
present when she feared Louis Cordot would come. 

And so at that very moment Louis Cordot, who had 
gone with M. Petit but one square, and turning aside 
had gone round the square and returned, was alone with 
Madame. She was very pale, but she held her lips firm 
and tried to speak calmly, as she said, ‘‘No, Louis 
Durand — ” 

“Excuse me, Mme. Petit,” he said with a mocking, 


THE MANIAC OF ST. PIERRE 


145 


low bow, ‘‘but it is as much to your advantage as mine 
to call me Louis Cordot. That is my name. You 
know my first two names are Louis Cordot, and as for 
the last, that would best not be spoken.^’ 

Madame held tightly to the arms of her chair and 
compressing her lips still more, said, “So be it, Louis 
Cordot. You can have no more money.’^ 

“I am of a different opinion.” He spoke slowly, 
never taking his eyes from Madame’s face. “I think 
you will furnish me more money, and soon! Fm of 
the opinion you would rather do it than — not.” In 
the pause before the last word, he gave Madame the 
full benefit of his fiendish smile. 

She did not quail before it, but the last vestige of 
color left her face, and her voice was more tense as she 
said, “I have no money! I have given you my last 
sou !” 

“You husband has plenty of money.” 

Madame's eyes flashed. “Would you have me steal ?” 

Then M. CordoFs slow, exasperating drawl, “Call it 
what you like. I have never supposed a woman had to 
steal in order to get money from her husband. They 
manage it somehow.” 

“But I have got all I can by managing.” 

Then he, more slowly, looking out beyond the palms 
at the rain just beginning to fall in a drenching torrent, 
“I care not how, but get me the money ! If you do not, 
you — ” 

Just here he stopped with a smothered oath ; for look- 
ing back, instead of encountering Madame's pale face 


146 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

and wavering, frightened look, he met Joan’s fearless, 
unflinching gaze, and her black eyes said as plainly as 
ever eyes spoke, “I am not afraid of you! And it is 
war unceasing until you are run to the wall,” while her 
lips were saying in most decided fashion to Madame at 
her back, ‘‘Edwa’d he want yo’ mighty bad. He am in 
de new room. Yo’ go in da’ and jes sen’ Missy Biolet 
hea ; we’ll ente’tain M. Cordot, nebe’ yo’ fea’ I” 

M. Cordot mentally ground his teeth when he saw 
Madame going, but he only sat perfectly still and 
shifted his gaze uneasily from Joan to the palms and 
bit of dull sky, and back to Joan. That individual, 
with arms akimbo, stood immovable, never taking her 
eyes from his face. He tried to ignore her, but he 
could feel her cutting gaze even when his back was 
turned. He thought of ignominious flight, but con- 
cluded to stay. At last he turned to Joan and said, 
“Are you in mourning ?” 

She wore one long black robe and not even the violet 
headdress of first mourning, but only black. “No,” 
she said, “Fs dressed fo’ de ca’nibal as a debiless.” 

M. Cordot thought that the smile fitted the charac- 
ter, and that she needed no unusual dress to imperson- 
ate a deviless at any time. But he only said, “Then 
why are you not on the street ?” 

“Case I enjoys myse’f hea,” she replied, and her 
smile had a touch of triumph in it. 

“Tell me the belief about the deviless.” He knew not 
why he said it, unless it were that under Joan’s eyes 
and smile he could not bear her silence. 


147 


THE MANIAC OF ST. PIERRE 

“De debiless/’ began Joan at once, “am always brack, 
always bery tall an^ bery strong, an’ bery beautiful. 
Not zackly beautiful neide’, but she hab a cha’m, a 
drawin’ powe’ about he’ dat no man un’e’stan’. An’ 
she am always all in brack fum head to foot. But de 
debiless she ken walk an’ walk an’ walk, straight an’ 
fas’ an’ fa’ obe’ hill an’ mountain an’ ribe’, an’ nebe’ 
gits ti’ed. An’ she am always fresh an’ rested. De 
women folks — deys not afraid ob de debiless; but it 
am de men folks she am gwine to lead to obstruction. 
An’ what man go away wid he’, dat man am nebe’ 
gwine to come back! Nebe’ come back!” Joan’s 
voice sank to a gruesome whisper. 

“But what becomes of him ?” said M. Cordot, trying 
to smile at this superstition. 

“Listen!” said Joan, speaking impressively and never 
taking her piercing black eyes from her listener’s face. 
“Some day de debiless she walk straight an’ fas’ down 
de white road, an’ a man he am cornin’ to meet he’ on 
dat road; mebbe he am a white man, mebbe he am 
brack; but he see he’ cornin’ an’ he know she am de 
debiless, an’ he say to hisself he mus’ not meet he’, he 
mus’ go back; but all de time he jes go right on. An’ 
when she leabe de white road an’ go up de hillside, jes 
a beck’nin’ to him to come afte’, he say to hisself he 
mus’ go back to his wo’k, mus’ go back to his home, 
mus’ go back to his fambly. But all de time, how- 
somebe’ he jes go right on up de hill afte’ de debiless. 
But de debiless she go up an’ up, fas’ an’ easy lak, but 
de man he haf to climb ha’d, an’ bimeby he jes fo’git 


148 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

his wo’k an* fo*git his home an* fo*git his fambly, an* 
jes tink nuffin but to go wid de debiless. An* she look 
back at him an* smile, an* toll him on up de steep morne 
into de big da’k woods, whe* de giant trees ob all kinds 
am a growin*, whe* de palms am bigge*n de bigges* 
palms in dis city, whe* de oaks an* *hogany an* iron- 
wood crowd each odde* an* am all tied close togedde* 
wid de creepe*s an* de lianas. On to whe* de flamin* 
flambeau tree look lak fi’e an* de ceiba tree am mos* big 
enough to cobe* de town. De debiless take his han* an* 
lead *im pas* de creepe*s dat bu*n lak fi*e, pas* de stingin* 
plants, pas* de pizen trees, pas* de monstrous fe*-de- 
lance dat am big *round as yo* body, — safe pas* all dese, 
case none ob dese *us de way de debiless hab planned 
dat man*s obstruction; — on an* on to de prace in dat 
woods whe* de smell ob de blossom am sweet, siveet! 
But in dat smell am awfu* ebil. An* dat smell jes make 
dat man so he *membe* nebe* anyting any mo* ! 

‘‘Mebbe de nex* man dat debiless lead away, she lead 
’im on an* on to de edge ob de bery, bery high cliff ; an* 
den down, down he fall, tell he am smashed to deaf on 
de rocks below, while de cliff above rings wid de clar, 
musical laugh ob de debiless. But howsomebe* dat 
be, one ting am sa*tain sho ! De man de debiless lead 
away, dat man nebe* come back !** An impressive pause 
and then Joan resumed, with her most “debilish** smile, 
“I enjoys mese*f as debiless, an* I enjoys bein* hea! 
An*,** still more impressively, “ *les Fs powe*fu* *staken, 
yo*s de bery man dis debiless am gwine to lead to ob- 
struction.** And this time the smile broke into a ring- 


THE MANIAC OF ST. PIERRE 


149 


ing, mocking laugh that Cordot thought must be very 
like that mythical individual’s own, and he felt a gen- 
uine relief when just then Violet appeared. 

The Petit homestead was a quaint old building. The 
enclosure where M. Cordot and Joan were was not a 
regular court, but a great arched and paved passage be- 
tween the two divisions of the building, extending the 
entire length and open at both ends, save for the palms 
that swayed gracefully at the entrance, and the vines 
that clung to the wire screening at the back. At each 
side of this open hall, in a groove in the paving, ran a 
tiny stream of fresh water. A fountain sent up a jet 
or spray in the center and from stone lions’ mouths 
poured out the crystal mountain fluid that made the 
delicious drinking water of St. Pierre. Palms and 
statuettes, mats and easy chairs completed the furnish- 
ing of this retreat. It was there Violet joined M. 
Cordot. 

Half an hour later when Edward and Heloise came 
out, Violet was listening with eager interest to M. 
Cordot as he said, ‘‘Oh, yes, it is simply a matter of 
scientific knowledge. It is rather a new science and 
not many persons understand it. And it is sometimes 
hard to get subjects. If it were not so, the science 
would soon be better known.” He only deigned a nod 
to Edward and Heloise as they came in, then went on 
talking to Violet, never taking his eyes from her face. 

Violet did not even glance up, but was totally ab- 
sorbed in the theme. “What objections,” she said, “do 
persons have to — to being subjects?” 


150 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

‘‘Oh/' said M. Cordot, with utmost scorn, with a 
shrug of his shoulders and a contemptuous wave of 
the hand, “it is simply ignorance and prejudice. Per- 
sons of wider views, who are willing to allow them- 
selves to be put under this influence, can do a very 
great service to science. And, as I was saying, hypno- 
tism can be made of very great use in surgery when 
the patient may be put at perfect ease without the use 
of opiates. But one cannot be hypnotized without his 
own consent, so science suffers. Oh yes, I have a lit- 
tle knowledge of it. If I had a subject, Fd be glad 
to pursue the science further. I believe it is to be a 
great benefit to the world." 

Heloise, who had been standing, took one step for- 
ward, flashed one swift glance from her brown eyes 
and said, “How would I do for a subject?" This was 
but a kind of blind attempt to come to Violet’s rescue. 
Heloise knew nothing of hypnotism; it was a vague, 
mysterious name to her, but she could see Violet was 
coming strongly under the influence of this man, whom 
she disliked and distrusted, and she vaguely feared for 
her. 

Edward stood motionless, with his gaze riveted 
on M. Cordot. His sensitive face worked, his eyes 
flashed, his hands trembled, and if M. Cordot had 
found time to notice him, he might have taken warn- 
ing. But he was intent upon his conversation with 
Violet. 

“You see. Miss Violet, a great many people are so 
egotistic, obstinate or proud that they do not, can- 


THE MANIAC OF ST. PIERRE 151 
not make good subjects. It requires a strong act of 

‘‘Act of said Violet eagerly. “I should think 

it would require a surrender of will.” 

“A strong act of will,” repeated M. Cordot, “and 
great mental concentration. Act of will to decide to 
surrender one's mind to the — scientific influence, and 
mental concentration to keep out other influences that 
would hinder taking a suggestion from the hypnotist. 
It is all very simple. If you should decide to lend 
yourself to the interests of science for a time, you 
would simply sit here in this easy chair and I should 
make a few passes, thus. You would take your mind 
from everything else, and decide to put yourself under 
this influence. Then thus, — now close your eyes, now, 
just so — ” M. Cordot stopped his monotonous speech, 
but went on with the passes over her eyes, her forehead, 
her cheeks, all the time keeping his gaze most intently 
fixed on her face, which grew paler and took on a some- 
what lifeless look. 

Heloise said, “O Violet, don’t permit him to do 
that!” But Violet seemed not to hear. Nor did M. 
Cordot give the least heed but kept his attention cen- 
tered on Violet. 

Suddenly he aroused her and said, “Now listen! 
You hear music.” 

Violet assumed an attitude of listening, then said 
slowly, in a troubled tone, “No, I cannot hear it.” 

“Yes, you hear music; it is a band playing the 
‘Marseillaise Hymn.’ ” 


1 52 THE PROPHET OF MARTIN IQ UE 

Again Violet listened and again said, more troubled, 
‘*No, I cannot hear it. It must be far away.’’ 

‘'Yes, it is,” said M. Cordot. “It is far away. The 
music is faint but it is coming nearer. Listen! Now 
you hear it; it is playing ‘Star Spangled Banner.’ ” 

Violet was looking at nothing, but staring in a 
kind of sightless way right through the wall before 
her. She drew her pale brow into a little pucker and 
took a still more strained attitude of listening and said, 
“No, I cannot hear it yet.” 

“It is coming nearer. It is now playing ‘Lead 
Kindly Light.’ ” 

“Yes, I hear it,” said Violet, in an unnatural tone 
like one talking in sleep. “But it is faint and far away. 
I should like to hear it more plainly.” 

Just here Edward took a few swift strides until he 
stood beside M. Cordot and said, “Violet 1 ” She gave 
no heed and still looked straight before her, seeing 
nothing, but listening intently. “Violet!” repeated 
Edward, and he took her hand in his, “Will you come 
with me? You must not stay here a moment longer.” 
Her hand remained perfectly impassive in his and she 
seemed not to see him or hear him. “Violet!” he 
said in that tense voice that at once called Heloise to 
his side, “Waken! Do you not hear me, Violet?” 

“You are too late with your interference,” said M. 
Cordot coldly. “She does not hear you. She hears the 
music of the band.” 

Edward turned and flashed a look at M. Cordot. 
He did not return the look, did not for an instant take 


THE MANIAC OF ST, PIERRE 


153 


his eyes from Violet’s drawn face, but his own was 
marred by that fiendish smile. Just one glance at that 
face and Edward stepped back one step, struck out 
one quick blow from his slight shoulder and M. Cordot 
lay motionless on the stone pavement. When he fell, 
Violet brought her eyes from vacancy and looked 
about from one to another, at first with a wondering, 
inquiring look, then a weary, disappointed one, finally 
a look of mingled humiliation and fright, which ended 
in a childish burst of tears. Nervously clasping one 
of Edward’s hands and one of Heloise’s she said with 
trembling lips, ‘1 am not well, I must go to my 
room.” 

The whispering swish of soft garments and bare 
feet and Joan, from her seat on M. Cordot’s prostrate 
form said calmly, “Now, Edwa’d, yo’ jes take de gals 
away. Sen’ one ob de men serbans hea, an’ I’ll ten’ to 
dis ramscallion myse’f.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


ASLEEP 

A re you ill, Violet?’' inquired Madame anx- 
iously, the next morning, noticing her pale face 
as she encountered her just outside her door. 
*‘No,” said Violet, slowly and doubtfully, passing 
her hand back over her brow. ‘T have a strange head- 
ache. I seem under a strain all the time to listen for 
something at a distance. I have never felt so be- 
fore.” 

''Come right back J into your room, dear,” said 
Madame, "and sit in this easy chair. Here, try my 
smelling salts. Why didn’t you tell me you were not 
well?” Then Madame touched a bell and in response 
a noiseless maid glided in. "Felice, bring a cup of 
coffee immediately. — And a mango and two oranges,” 
she said as the maid turned to go. As noiselessly as 
she had come, Felice glided out, and in an incredibly 
short time she returned, bringing on her head a tray 
on which were the coffee and fruit. 

"Now, my dear,” said Madame, seating herself 
near Violet, "you’ll soon feel better. I shall eat one 
of these delicious oranges myself. Not want the 
other? Well, then the mango, surely! Oh, doesn’t 
154 


ASLEEP 


155 

that beautiful golden fruit tempt you at all? But you 
will drink the coffee? That’s a good girl.” 

Obediently Violet drank the coffee and nibbled at 
the fruit. Presently she said, “Do you hear any- 
thing, Madame?” 

“Why no, Violet, I hear nothing unusual. Did you 
think you heard something ? What was it ?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. I can’t quite hear it distinctly 
and that troubles me.” 

Madame, when she had again scrutinized Violet’s 
pale, drawn face, summoned Dr. LaTerette. Heloise 
had told him in great indignation of Violet’s experience 
with M. Cordot the day before, so he was prepared as 
Madame was not, to see, or think he saw, the cause 
of Violet’s peculiar indisposition. He paused on the 
threshold and looked for a moment at his patient’s 
pale, troubled face and her strained attitude. Then 
advancing, he said, “Good morning. Miss Violet. You 
are ill this morning?” 

She turned on him a wornout smile and replied, 
“Why no, I don’t think I am ill, but — ” She hesitated 
and glanced at Madame in an appealing way. 

“She complains,” said Madame, “of a peculiar head- 
ache.” 

“Not a common headache,” said Violet, “but it 
seems that I am tired from listening so long.” 

“What is it you expect to hear ?” asked he. 

“I don’t know. I wakened this morning with the 
impression that I had just been listening to something 
that I must hear again, and telling myself it was 


156 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


only a dream seems to do no good. I cannot help lis- 
tening all the time.” She looked up at Dr. LaTerette 
in a pathetic perplexity. 

‘‘Is it music you expect to hear ?” ventured he. 

“Music!” she repeated, and her face brightened a 
little, “I believe it is.” 

The doctor seated himself beside Violet, and looking 
gravely into her eyes as he felt her pulse, said in gen- 
tle, earnest tones, “But there is no music to hear, if 
you listen. There was no music in the early morning. 
It was only a troublesome dream. Since you know 
this, you must shake off the impression of it.” 

A tired smile flitted across her face, and she re- 
plied, “You are right but — I am still listening.” 

Dr. LaTerette rose with a baffled expression on his 
face, but after a moment’s thought he turned to 
Madame and said, “I will bring her a potion presently. 
Can you tell me — ” hesitating painfully, “where I can 
find M. Cordot?” 

Madame started, then answered, after consulting 
the clock on the mantel, “He will be here in half an 
hour. Did you — shall you — ” 

“Yes, I wish to see him immediately. I will bring 
the potion I spoke of and then — 'You have not break- 
fasted, have you? Then go; I shall myself await M. 
Cordot, and I shall probably engage him for some time, 
so if you wish to see him — ” 

“Oh no,” Madame hastened to say. “Unless he 
asks for me, I shall not see him.” And Madame went 
to her breakfast, while Dr. LaTerette sought Joan. 


ASLEEP 


157 


“Joan,” he said, “will you mix one of your delicious 
drinks for Miss Violet? A matrimony. And I shall 
take it to her myself. It is medicine. Do you under- 
stand, Joan?” 

Joan brought the water, lemon, pineapple, sweet 
sops and claret and was busy concocting the drink be- 
fore she deigned a reply. Then she said with a toss 
of her head, “Joan ben in dis house nigh onto thirty 
yea’ an’ dey’s mighty few tings she hain’ un’e’stood. 
But Ian’ sakes! Docto’, some folks is as un’e’stan’less 
’bout some tings as a noo bo’n babe !” 

“Does anyone in this household come in that list of 
infants?” asked he, smiling. 

“Do anyone come in dat lis’! Bette’ ax do anyone 
come outen dat lis’! Now fu’ insticks, da’s — Now! 
Joan hain’ gwine to say no mo’. Dis am ready.” 

“Come with me, Joan, and — ” with a note of added 
earnestness, “stand by me to-day.” 

“Dat I will, Victo’ LaTerette, dat I will. Hain’ I 
knowed yo’ mudde’ an’ fadde’ befo’ yo’ ? An’ mighty 
’ristocratic pai’ dey wuz too! — An’ talkin’ ’bout in- 
fan’s,” she added irrelevantly, “when it come to un’e- 
stan’in’ Heloise, — bress he’ pu’ty face! — yo’s in bald 
an’ toofless infanticy.” 

“Joan, what do you — ” But now they had reached 
Violet’s door, and could not further pursue the con- 
versation. 

Dr. LaTerette left Joan with Violet while he went 
down to await M. Cordot. He had not long to wait for 
his arrival. When the visitor asked for Madame, the 


158 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


doctor told him she had not finished her breakfast 
and in the meantime he would remain. M. Cordot 
looked bored and the other began, ‘‘Miss Violet is in- 
disposed this morning.” 

“Indeed !” in a tone that said plainly, “What is that 
to me?” 

“Yes, it is a strange indisposition, she complains — ” 

“Have you many patients?” interrupted M. Cor- 
dot, which really meant, “Do you see you are talking 
uninteresting shop ?” 

“Only one which personally concerns you,” said the 
doctor pointedly. 

“Concerns me?” lazily echoed M. Cordot, with a 
slight lifting of the eyebrows and a barely perceptible 
shrug of the shoulders. 

“Yes. As I was saying. Miss Violet has a head- 
ache resulting from being under a strain to listen for 
something at a distance.” 

His listener started. “I suppose a physician makes 
many strange observations.” 

“Words are unnecessary between us,” said Dr. La- 
Terette rising. “You will undo what you did yester- 
day, and that quickly.” 

“I don’t in the least under — ” 

“Yes, you do understand! Will you come with me, 
or shall I summon — ” 

“I will go,” said the other doggedly. He paused 
for a moment at the threshold of Violet’s room and 
said, “May I see Miss Violet alone for a moment ?” 

“No!” was the short reply. 


ASLEEP 


159 


Meanwhile, the ladies had not noticed their approach, 
and Joan was saying, “La yes. Miss Biolet, honey, Fs 
had jes sich qua’ dreams. But I jes says some pra’s 
to de Holy Mudde’, an’ — ” 

M. Cordot here advanced with a bow and interrupted 
with, “Good morning. Miss Violet, I wish to have a 
word with you ; may I ask that the servant — ” with a 
gesture that asked for Joan’s withdrawal. 

“Joan,” said Violet, “you may — ” 

“Joan,” interrupted Dr. LaTerette, “you will re- 
main.” 

“I know it,” said Joan, complacently, and remained. 

“So I hear you have not been well this morning,” 
began M. Cordot, gazing fixedly into Violet’s eyes as 
he took her hand a moment in greeting. “Had a 
troubled dream, did you? But I am glad to see you 
are entirely recovered, and are feeling perfectly well. 
You have a good physician. Miss Violet.” 

“Yes, I am quite well now, thank you. It was only 
a passing impression left by my dream.” 

“But it will trouble you no more,” said he. Then 
without taking his eyes from Violet’s face, “Doctor, I 
fear our young friend has been allowed to fatigue her- 
self. This climate is very trying.” 

Dr. LaTerette made no reply, but Violet said, “I 
have been feeling tired for several days.” 

“I guessed as much. You are tired; you have per- 
haps had too much care of some sort for this climate. 
You need rest. Now, I should advise you when you go 
to sleep this afternoon not simply to take your usual 


i6o THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


nap, but sleep, and sleep for hours. Then you will 
feel like a new woman. You are only tired. A long 
sleep is all you need. Good day,’* and he turned to go. 

Dr. LaTerette accompanied him in perfect silence. 
And so relieved was M. Cordot by this silence that 
he allowed himself to be bowed out without again ask- 
ing for Madame. 

Dr. LaTerette returned to Violet’s room and found 
her indeed apparently recovered. Then he sought 
Madame and went direct to what he had to say : “Vio- 
let is much better, Mme. Petit, and I have something 
to say to you. M. Cordot is an old friend of yours, I 
believe.” 

“Quite an old friend,” said Madame, striving to be 
calm. 

“I beg your pardon for what I have to say, but — I 
distrust and fear Louis Cordot.” 

“What do you mean?” said Madame with pale lips. 

Dr. LaTerette pitied her, but he must go on. “He 
has a strange, I fear dangerous, hold on Violet.” And 
in a few brief sentences he explained to Madame what 
he meant. “But it is not for Violet alone I fear,” he 
went on. “But Edward hates the man. He struck 
him yesterday. No one knows better than you that 
Edward is not quite responsible for his actions. I 
fear what he may do if he is again angered.” 

Madame’s agitation was painful to see. “What can 
I do?” she faltered. 

“I thought perhaps you might wish to tell your hus- 
band and have the man forbidden — ” He paused, ar- 


ASLEEP 


i6i 


rested by the look of terror in Madame^s eyes. “Of 
course/^ he went on, “I leave that entirely to you. 
It was only my desire to let you know all that I know.” 

She looked at him gratefully. “Yes, leave it to me,” 
she said hoarsely. “I must think — Dr. LaTerette,” 
she went on with a painful effort, “there are reasons 
why, if it can be avoided — ” 

Dr. LaTerette rose and coming near Madame said 
gently, “Pray, do not think it necessary to tell me 
anything you — would rather keep. Believe me, I am 
your friend. I trust you to do right in this matter 
and let it not be mentioned between us any more. But 
if I can be of any service to you, do not hesitate to 
call on me.” 

“You are so good!” she said with a dry sob, catch- 
ing his hand and resting her cold brow against it for 
a moment. “I know not how we could have done 
without you all these months. If I had had a son — ” 
Dr. LaTerette waited, but as she did not go on he 
said, “Rely on me as you would on a son,” and turn- 
ing left her alone with her trouble. 

There are troubles of the heart only that cause 
suffering and heartache and call for patient endurance ; 
but such a trouble sits becomingly on a stricken one 
and places the martyr’s crown upon her pale, crepe- 
bound brow and calls about her sympathetic, thought- 
ful friends, who seat her in a sacred place apart and 
guard her sorrow’s sanctity from faintest trace of rude 
annoyance, and ever mix the sweets of gentle, sympa- 
thetic kindness with her cup’s bitterness. Religion 


162 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


comes in hopeful guise and pours its healing balm upon 
her wounded heart. Such sorrow finds relief in heaven- 
sent tears and under the gentle touch of Father Time, 
softens into a sad, sweet, sacred memory. 

But there are troubles that involve heart and brain 
and conscience, that call not for patient endurance, 
but for hours of fierce, fevered unrest, long days of fear 
and shame, sleepless, never ending nights of agonized 
struggle, of battles fought and fought again, and then 
not won. Such a trouble knows not the balm of sympa- 
thetic ministration, but bolts and bars the door upon 
its unspoken misery, draws the blind close, stands 
tremblingly on guard and quakes at every sound or 
shadow, lest some rude hand lay bare the inner cham- 
bers of the soul, and prying eyes behold and cruel 
tongue tell forth its secret. Such trouble is dry-eyed, 
for the fierce fires of conflict have dried up the foun- 
tain of healing tears. Such a trouble leaves deep scars 
on heart and brain, and if from its sway the con- 
science emerges unseared, then that soul hath shared 
Gethsemane. 

Such was Madame's trouble. Fiercely that day the 
battle raged. Ofttime she was on her knees, but she 
feared to utter the prayer that was in her heart. And 
so the sun sank low, and still she knew not what she 
should decide. And then she rose, clasped her hands, 
drew herself up proudly, and said aloud, ‘T scorn my 
weak self. I will decide before the sun goes down.’’ 

Just then Heloise came to Madame with terror on 
her face, mother, come quickly! Violet is asleep 


ASLEEP 163 

and I cannot waken her! She looks like death! 
Come !’' 

They hurried to Violet’s room. She lay on the 
couch with her hands crossed on her breast, and her 
face was so ghastly and her sleep so like that deeper 
sleep that it startled Madame at first. They used all 
usual means to waken her. Heloise called her name 
distractedly, while Madame chafed her hands, dashed 
water in her face, forced restoratives between her lips, 
even slapped her cheeks vigorously, but to no effect. 
Violet lay apparently in a deep sleep. Then with 
Joan’s aid they got her on her feet and walked her 
about. But at any time, if they removed their support, 
she sank down in a little limp heap. They succeeded 
in getting no word from her lips nor any sign of 
awakening, and were greatly relieved when Dr. La- 
Terette, who had been out, returned. 

He looked at Violet for a time with grave, puzzled 
face. “You are sure she has had no kind of opiate?” 
he said. 

“Quite sure,” said Heloise decidedly. 

“How long has she been in this condition?” 

“Since early in the afternoon,” explained Heloise, 
“when she lay down to take her usual afternoon nap.” 

Then Dr. LaTerette recalled what M. Cordot had 
said to Violet about sleeping. Could this be an hypno- 
tic sleep? When he had listened to the account of 
Heloise and Madame, and carefully examined the 
sleeper himself, he had no doubt it was ; but he wished 
to have the additional proof of seeing M. Cordot waken 


i 64 the prophet OF MARTINIQUE 

her. As Madame was not well, he insisted that she 
and Heloise should now leave Violet to his and Joan’s 
care, assuring them there was no great cause for 
alarm, and that they should see Violet much better 
before bedtime. He wished to spare Madame the pain 
of seeing M. Cordot. Then he went in quest of that 
gentleman. They were back in half an hour, and found 
Joan watching Violet. That individual had an air of 
great importance and M. Cordot saw at a glance that 
Joan did not fear him as he had thought she would. 
During the exhibition of his power over Violet the 
day before, in one hasty glance at Joan’s face, he 
thought he saw superstitious terror there. But there 
was no trace of it now, and her scrutinizing, unflinch- 
ing gaze, her defiant, threatening attitude had returned 
in full force. This added not a little to his discom- 
fiture, already great as a result of what Dr. LaTerette 
had told him. But he tried to assume a composed tone 
and manner, as he said, glancing at the pale face on 
the pillow. ‘Tt is utter folly. Dr. LaTerette, for you 
to suppose that my words had anything to do with the 
young lady’s condition. She is probably only sleeping 
the sleep of exhaustion.” 

‘Waken her,” said Dr. LaTerette, briefly. 

“No,” said the other, “I refuse to have anything 
to do with it. That would be a tacit acknowledgment 
that what you say is true, that she is in an hypnotic 
sleep, when I know that it is not so.” 

“Prove it!” 

M. Cordot shrugged his shoulders and said loftily. 


ASLEEP 


165 

“This is exceedingly annoying, but since you insist, of 
course it can do no harm for me to waken the girl. He 
went at once to the couch and with that peculiar act 
of eye and hand and voice which hypnotists use, but 
which appears so unmeaning to the looker-on, wakened 
Violet. Then he said, “Now you are rested, aren’t 
you? Sleep was all you needed. You feel better, don’t 
you ?” 

“Yes,” said Violet brightly, “I haven’t felt so well 
for months.” 

He went on, more insinuatingly, (Violet could not 
know it was because Dr. LaTerette had threatened him 
with Captain John) “These people have been alarmed 
about you. They thought you were in a — an unnatural 
sleep.” His smile of utter refutation of such an idea 
brought a responsive laugh from Violet. “It was,” he 
added, “a perfectly natural sleep.” 

“Of course!” said Violet. 

“And I should not allow it mentioned as other than 
a natural sleep to any one. To your father, for in- 
stance, I should not have this mentioned, if I were 
you.” 

“Of course not!” said Violet, as if the idea were pre- 
posterous. 

“It is not necessary to mention it to her father,” 
said a stentorian voice, and the powerful form of Cap- 
tain John stepped out from the gloom of the side door- 
day. “Her father is here, and knows all.” 

“Why, Captain John, who knew you were here?” 
said Dr. LaTerette grasping his hand warmly. 


i66 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


‘^Only Joan and I were in this conspiracy.” Then 
turning to M. Cordot, “Now listen, you infernal 
French villain! Did you ever hear of an American 
Indian scout? I am descended from one. Did you 
ever hear of an American sharp-shooter? I am it! 
Did you ever hear of an American cowboy ? I am it ! 
Did you ever hear of an American rough rider ? I am 
it ! I am all those. That’s the reason there is so much 
of me.” And Captain John drew up his great height 
and inflated his immense chest. This inflation he sent 
out in a great, blustering hurricane, and said, “If you 
ever dare to harm a hair of that girl’s head again, you’ll 
repent it in bales of sackcloth and tons of ashes to the 
end of time! Do you suppose I’d trifle to bring you 
into any petty court ? No !” Another blustering hurri- 
cane. “Just this way,” and he shot out his great fist 
with such force near M. Cordot’s face that he winced 
in spite of himself. “I’d send you to answer for your 
villainy to the great Judge! Now,” pointing conclu- 
sively to the door, “don’t you open your lips. You 
skedaddle !” 

M. Cordot forgot to show his teeth during this talk, 
but Joan was not sparing of her dental display, and 
she now broke into a half merry, half mocking, but 
wholly musical laugh that rang through the house and 
was contagious even to Violet. And to this music M. 
Cordot stalked out in silence. 


CHAPTER XIV 


GOOD FRIDAY 

L a, yes, Missy Biolet, it always rain on Good Fri- 
day. It am de tea’s fo’ de deaf ob Mary’s Son. 
An’ ef yo’ kotches de rain, it nebe’ dry up, an’ 
dey say it cu’s any sickness. Now I tell yo’. Missy 
Biolet,” and Joan’s voice sank lower, ‘T’s foun’ out 
sumpin. Dat wate’ won’t cu’e de toofache, an’ it won’t 
cu’e de headache, an’ it won’t cu’e de febe’ dat de 
furrin folk hab when dey comes hea. I’s tried dem an’ 
it won’t cu’e ’em. Leastways it didn’t. Now I’s ’eluded 
dis, dat dis wate’ hain’ fur all dem common ailments, 
what common docto’s an’ common doses ken cu’e. 
But, honey chile,” and her voice sank almost to a 
whisper, ‘'dey is ailments what de docto’s can’t cu’e 
wid deir doses. An’ I specs dat am what de wate’ am 
fur. Now da’s Edwa’d, bress his sweet face! It hab 
ben docto’s an’ docto’s sence he war dis high, but dey 
hain’ cu’e him. Now I’s gwine to kotch dis wate’ fo’ 
Edwa’d. I’s ben a sayin’ pra’s fo’ dat boy since he 
war a baby in dese hea a’ms. Now I’s gwine to try 
dis wate’. An’ Missy Biolet, de docto’s can’t cu’e yo’ 
when yo’ gits de debil’s sleep on yo’. Now ef dat 
happen agin, I’s gwine to wash yo’ face in dis wate’. 
Den I tink yo’ll wake an’ nebe’ hab dat sleep agin.” 

167 


i68 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

Whether Joan was right as regards all Good Fri- 
days, at any rate, on this particular Good Friday it 
rained. And it would not be hard to believe her right, 
when you remember it rained in St. Pierre not only 
Good Friday, but almost all bad Fridays. 

The downpour of rain was over, the sun unveiled 
his face and looked down with a very direct gaze upon 
a strange scene in that strange city by the sea. He 
looked down on the verdure-clad hills that framed in 
this quaint, old town, and undulated back, back and up 
to the cloudy heights of Mont Pelee. He looked down 
on the bright-hued houses, reaching down to the sea 
and back, climbing the hills and contending with the 
rank vegetation, which in its turn was pushing down 
the hill-slopes, trying, in its exuberance of growth, to 
swallow up the town. He looked down upon the 
crooked, steep paved streets, ever clean with the never- 
failing tiny streams of pure mountain water flowing 
through them. He looked down on the bright roofs, 
the massive walls, the sashless windows, the waving 
palms and sparkling fountains. He looked down on 
the River Roxelane, with its cold, crystal torrent dash- 
ing over its rocks and under its bridges, on which stood 
a few loiterers, singly or in groups, despite the direct 
rays of the sun. He looked down on the crowded 
wharf and the calm blue bay, with its ships lying 
at anchor, silhouetted against the vivid blue of the 
sea. He looked down on the giant trees, the graceful 
bamboo and tree-ferns, the green vistas and cool drive- 
ways, the lakes, the cascades, the arbors of the Jardin 


GOOD FRIDAY 


169 


des plantes; and on the cemetery with its many stone- 
paved graves and its many little crosses, and the wealth 
of vegetation from the hill-slope crowding down upon 
it, over-running its boundary, hungry to devour this 
city of the dead. He looked down on the twin towers 
of the cathedral, the colossal statue of the Christ over- 
looking the town, and the thousand little shrines and 
crucifixes in the home, on the hill and by the wayside. 
He looked down on all this with a glory in his glance 
that brought out all the wondrous coloring of hill and 
town and sea, with a radiance the cold north never 
knows. 

All this as it usually was in St. Pierre. But — he 
looked down on a population in mourning. Not a 
pink or blue, nor a scarlet or yellow in all the attire 
of the natives; but the garb worn for the dead, robes 
of black and violet foulard, or with some of the poorer 
classes the entire dress of violet. He looked down on 
throngs climbing the hills to the shrines and crucifixes. 
He looked down at three o’clock on a population bow- 
ing to kiss the cross thrice, or to kiss the ground or 
pavement if no cross were near. 

It was a still afternoon; the very breeze held its 
breath and listened; listened to the creole chatter in 
the streets, and the soft, almost noiseless patter of bare 
feet on the pavement; listened to the many prayers 
said before the shrines and crucifixes; listened in vain 
for the ringing of bells, for even the cathedral bells 
were silent on this holy day; listened to the three 
cannon shots that marked the sacred hour of three; 


170 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

listened to the three wishes every negro made as he 
thrice kissed the cross; listened to the conversation 
betraying the strange, crude superstitions concerning 
Good Friday; listened to conversation that had noth- 
ing to do with Good Friday in fact or in spirit; listened 
to one such conversation by two loiterers on the new 
bridge over the Roxelane. One of these loiterers was 
a young man, a tall, thin, dark Frenchman, with thin 
lips, dingy brown eyes, and a chronic, sullen scowl. The 
other was M. Cordot. 

“No,” said M. Cordot, “I cannot do that even for 
you. I must let that girl alone from this time on.” 

“If it were something to your interest, you would 
not come to that conclusion. Your conscience isn^t 
so tender where your own precious interests are con- 
cerned. Perhaps you forget that I know you are — ” 

“Well, no need to say what you know. I know 
it, too. And bridges, even empty ones, have ears. It 
isn’t a matter of conscience with me; you know I 
buried my conscience with my brother’s dead body. 
But what would it benefit you for me to get killed over 
this affair, or lose out on account of it. Then, I don’t 
understand it very well myself; and she’s too easy a 
subject. I had no idea of putting the girl in a death- 
like sleep for six hours, by simply remarking on the 
beneficence of sleep for tired mortals. It frightened 
me. I’ll do no more of it. Besides, I’m afraid for my 
life. I don’t know when Edward would take an in- 
sane notion to knock me into eternity; or when that 
giant captain might blow me out of existence in one 


GOOD FRIDAY 


171 

of his hurricanes of wrath. No, you’ll have to gfive up 
the girl.” 

The sullen look deepened on the young man’s face, 
and he said, *‘Do you think I’m going to keep your 
secret always for nothing?” 

*Tor nothing! Haven’t I divided the money with 
you etery time I’ve got it? Now listen,” in a con- 
ciliatory tone, “I have a piece of news. I did a little 
eavesdropping by accident the other day, overhearing 
M. Petit telling Madame that he had made a deposit 
in the hank in her name. He said she had seemed to 
be embarrassed of late when she asked him for money.” 
Here M. Cordot showed his teeth. “And he didn’t 
wish her to feel uncomfortable about such a trifle, so 
he had deposited a neat little sum, — never mind, but 
I heard the amount. Your share of it will satisfy even 
you.” 

“You mean to get it all?” 

“Every franc. And that is not all. He made a 
similar deposit in Edward’s name.” 

“Can you get that?” 

“I don’t know how yet, but I venture to say I can 
get it. Now in that case, I may have to resort to hyp- 
notism.” 

“I thought if your own interests were at stake — ” 

“I see what you would say, but you do not consider 
all the circumstances. Edward is insane. Do you see 
how I can make that serve? I have taken great pains 
to make public the fellow’s condition, and even empha- 
sized it, thinking I might turn it to account sometime ; 


172 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

and now I begin to see my wisdom in doing so. You 
know Edward is building beyond the morne two re- 
treats for refuge in case of an eruption of Mont Pelee. 
No»v I have encouraged him greatly in that, as nothing 
else shows his insanity better than that. Poor old 
harmless, dead Mont Pelee! It really is nothing but 
insanity, you know, to fancy any danger lurks 
about it.” 

“What is your plan to get the maniac’s money?” 

“Well, if by hypnotism or any other means he could 
be induced to sign a check, his father is so sensitive 
about his state that the mere mention of insanity in 
connection with the affair would effectually silence him. 
His reason for making that deposit in Edward’s name 
was to refute the notion that he was not sane enough 
to be trusted with a large sum of money.” 

“I begin to see your plan,” said the other, with ad- 
miration in his voice. “I thought you were wasting 
precious time in branding him a maniac for spite.” 

“Spite is a mild word. I hate Edward Petit. But 
I’ve wasted no time. My time is money. It is no 
mean sum.” 

“When you have that, then what?” 

“Then I leave Martinique. I take no more risks just 
now. I go to the United States at once, where I shall 
work at my profession,” with that smile, “at least until 
my money is gone. Then I might again make a call 
on my dear friends here.” M. Cordot shrugged his 
shoulders, showed his teeth, turned slowly on his heel 
and left the bridge. The breeze no longer held its 


GOOD FRIDAY 


m 

breath, and a little sigh passed over the quarter of the 
fort. 

A little sigh escaped Joan also, as she cautiously 
came out from her place of concealment beneath the 
bridge. Not only the breeze, but Joan had held her 
breath and listened to this conversation. ‘‘Yes, yo’ 
pestilential scum ob de earf, bridges has ea’s. An’ deys 
hea’d enough dis time to flusterate yo’ plans some 
dese fine days. Dea’ me, dea’ me! Dis am Good Fri- 
day; an’ I’s pow’fu’ ’fraid Joan ben habin’ some mighty 
onfo’gibin’ thoughts. But Ian’ sakes alibe! How can 
a po’ mortal ’member Good Friday, when she haf to 
watch the debil?” 

That same breeze, as it held its breath, had listened 
to a very different conversation in another quarter of 
the city, a conversation that took much of its coloring 
from the time and place. In the quiet cimetiere du 
mouillage, at the foot of Morne D’Orange, in a vine- 
draped seat shaded by stately palms, sat Mme. Petit and 
our young friends of the Petit household, with the ex- 
ception of Dr. LaTerette, who was reading the in- 
scriptions at the graves of the departed Petits. These 
graves were paved with tile in a plain diamond pat- 
tern, and each marked with an iron cross, in the cen- 
ter of which was a plaque of pure white marble that 
bore in dainty lettering the simple inscription. Flanked 
at right and left by a row of these graves stood a 
small chapel of white marble, which marked the grave 
of Marie Petit. On either side of the entrance out- 
side the chapel, and within the white pillared portico. 


174 the prophet OF MARTINIQUE 

were graceful angel forms of snowy marble; and 
within a Madonna and Christ of the same spotless ma- 
terial. 

Madame and Violet had been talking about the quaint 
superstitions and customs concerning Good Friday in 
St. Pierre; but now a silence had fallen on the group. 
Madame was busy with her own troubled thoughts. 
Edward was gazing at the face of one of the angels, 
which was lighted up in a beautiful way just now by 
a halo of flickering sunshine. Heloise, with a dreamy 
look in her soft brown eyes, was gazing far up the 
green slope of Morne D’Orange. Violet held a spray 
of jasmine in her hand, which she twirled about in 
her fingers, and looked at, without seeing, while she sat 
in a deep reverie. 

Dr. LaTerette was struck with the picture they 
made, as he turned from his restless sauntering and 
reading of inscriptions he had read before, and stopped 
to look at them. The girls, on either side of Edward, 
were in white, and had laid aside the helmets they had 
worn for protection while in the sunshine, only one 
gleam of which was able now to touch the group, and 
it glinted gold on the locks thrown back from Ed- 
ward’s brow. Dr. LaTerette stood for some time gaz- 
ing at them, as if he would imprint the picture indelibly 
on his memory, entirely unconscious meanwhile of the 
picture he himself made, as he stood with one hand 
in his pocket, his broad shoulders thrown back, his 
fine head thrown a little back and his chin thrust for- 
ward just a little, as was his wont when in thought. 


GOOD FRIDAY 


175 

He was standing thus, when the soft brown eyes that 
had been resting on the vivid green of Morne D’Orange 
suddenly turned full upon him, and Heloise said, 
«Well?^^ 

‘‘I was just wishing,’’ he said, advancing until he 
stood near Madame, ‘'that I had a kodak, so that I 
might keep this picture; and wishing still more there 
was such a thing as a mental kodak, so that I might 
read your thoughts.” 

Madame started and paled momentarily. Heloise 
blushed, then said instantly, “Which do you think 
would be the most interesting picture?” 

Before he could reply, Violet said, simply, “We’ll 
all tell you our thoughts, and then you’ll have your 
last wish. — Oldest first!” she added in childish fashion. 

“I’ve been thinking,” said Madame looking up into 
Dr. LaTerette’s face, “thoughts that could not possibly 
give you any pleasure, if I should tell them.” 

“Then you shall not tell them,” he replied. 

“I’ve been wondering,” said Edward, still looking 
at the halo about the angel’s face, “if father would be 
willing to have it moved.” 

“Have what moved, Edward dear ?” asked Madame. 

“Her grave — my mother’s grave.” A sweet, gentle 
reverence was in Edward’s tone, and a hush fell on all 
for a brief space; then he went on, “I’ve been watch- 
ing that great phalanx of green creeping down from 
the morne, assaulting the wall and trying to take this 
sacred city. We can fight it back. But there may 
come an assault when Mont Pelee has made ready his 


176 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

terrible artillery which no power of man can fight back ! 
I cannot bear to think of ashes and lava and fire de- 
scending upon that beautiful white marble resting 
place !’' 

There was an instant’s pause, then Madame said, 
‘‘To what place would you like to have it removed, Ed- 
ward, to England?” 

“Oh no, not so far, only across the morne.” 

Another brief pause, then Dr. LaTerette said, “I 
shall speak to your father; I think he may be will- 
ing.” 

“And I was also thinking,” said Edward, looking 
at the rows of crosses with the name “Petit” in- 
scribed thereon, then looking up earnestly at Dr. La- 
Terette, “that when Heloise is married — ” Dr. La- 
Terette stopped to fleck an insect from the cup of a 
fragrant lily; but Edward waited until he was again 
attentive, then he repeated, “I was thinking that when 
Heloise is married, I shall be the youngest of our 
name, that the time may come later when I am the 
last of the line, and that the name will die with me.” 

“And I’ve been thinking,” put in Heloise, clasping 
her hands over Edward’s shoulders, “that I should 
never marry, never. But should stay right by your 
side all my life; and I was vain enough to fancy you 
might like it, but lo ! you’ve been treacherously planning 
for me to leave you !” Heloise took Edward’s face be- 
tween her hands and looking into his eyes gravely 
shook her head, but her beautiful lips were smiling 
all the while and her eyes were full of a tender light. 


GOOD FRIDAY 


177 


Dr. LaTerette found himself wondering profoundly 
at the self-control of a man who could look down into 
those eyes while those arms just touched his shoulders 
and those lips were so near his own and yet remain un- 
moved. 

Gradually the rare smile, that made Edward’s face 
so strangely beautiful at times, chased away the gravity 
that had rested there and he said, “So, little sister, 
I am never to have the romantic distinction of being the 
youngest of the name.” Then he slipped one of her 
hands to his lips for a moment! Heloise’s purpose 
was accomplished ; Edward’s too gloomy thoughts were 
dispelled. 

“Youngest last!” then said Heloise, mimicking Vio- 
let’s tone. 

“Since early morning,” said Violet, “thoughts of 
the day have been running through my head, insist- 
ent thoughts that repeat themselves over and over. I 
was awake early this morning and saw the sun rise. 
Because of the mountains, he is no longer a 
fresh, newly risen sun when we see him here, but is 
far up in the sky when first he looks at St. Pierre. 
When I saw him suddenly lift his great briliant orb 
above the mountain barrier and look with such search- 
ing gaze upon St. Pierre, the fancy came to me that 
it was a great watchful eye seeing everything, that 
nothing could escape that keen glance, that he watched 
with critical judgment this Good Friday. And I said 
to myself. The same great eye that in early morning 
on that first Good Friday looked down on the ascent 


178 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

to Calvary! The same sun that hid his face and re- 
fused to look on that tragedy of all the ages, at which 
this old earth shuddered!’ And all day long the 
fancy has haunted me. Over and over as I watched 
and pondered, I have found myself asking, ‘How does 
it look to that great never-sleeping eye?’ ” 

From Violet’s first words Edward had looked into 
her face with the most intense interest, and there was 
coming into his eyes a look Heloise did not like to 
see there. With an effort to turn the conversation into 
a little lighter vein she said, smiling, “Perhaps after 
all these centuries He blushes to see it all.” 

“Yes, worse than that,” said Edward, and the gleam 
was in his eyes. “He burns with fierce wrath and 
shame! For He sees how much of darkness and super- 
stition, of blindness and egotism, of impurity of thought 
and life, how little of genuine reverence and true de- 
votion, how faint a reflex of the love that glorified 
Calvary is in this city by the sea, as in many another 
city in Christendom. And day after day, month after 
month, year after year, he has had his glance of burn- 
ing, fierce wrath turned straight into Mont Pelee’s 
crater. And some day — some day — ” 

When first Edward began, Heloise had slipped her 
hand gently into his and softly touched his shoulder 
with her cheek, but as she won no slightest response 
or notice from him and his words grew wilder, she 
turned appealing eyes to Dr. LaTerette. He had been 
surprised at some of Edward’s utterances. He did not 
know that Edward was such an earnest believer in 


GOOD FRIDAY 


179 


‘that love that glorified Calvary/ But he did not miss 
the glad light that crept for an instant into Violet’s 
face before it paled at his last words, and he divined 
who had been Edward’s teacher in faith. Then the 
appeal came from Heloise’s eyes and he must speak, 
though how could he meet this new faith in Edward, 
when his own was waning so fast ? But he must speak 
instantly ! So he interrupted with these words, ignor- 
ing Edward’s last sentence : “No, Edward, I think — ” 
he spoke very slowly and in a very low tone, “I think 
you must be mistaken about the fierce wrath of kind 
old Sol. I am inclined to believe this, rather ; through 
all the ages, from his wide view he has partaken of 
that broad charity that ‘beareth all things, believeth 
all things, hopeth all things,’ until he looks with kindly 
eyes on all human imperfections, and with warmest 
sympathy on all weak human struggles toward the 
right.” A little sigh of — was it relief? — escaped 
Madame’s lips, and it was not for Edward. 

“That is a sweeter belief, Edward,” almost whispered 
Heloise, as again she lightly touched his shoulder with 
her cheek. This time he took her hand gently in both 
of his and just touched the top of her hair with his 
lips. And Heloise knew the tension of his thoughts 
was lessened. The glance of gratitude she turned on 
Dr. LaTerette surprised that gentleman, just as this 
thought was flashing through his mind, “I wish I were 
a little unbalanced in mind and — ” He pulled himself 
up sharply and finished the thought, “but — I find I am.” 


CHAPTER XV 


THE DEMON OF MONT PELEE 

A very early start in the faint dawn, following a 
hasty breakfast; a delightful, leisurely drive 
through the wooded heights, luncheon at Morne 
Rouge and perhaps a little talk with Father Mary, and 
the warmest hours of the day spent in the cool delights 
of that eminence whence they could look and see 
ocean to right of them, ocean to left of them; another 
drive, this time toward the sunset and dinner at home. 
That was what the younger members of the family had 
planned but Madame had added, for herself at least, 
the ascent of le Calvaire as a part of the program for 
the afternoon. Monsieur had mildly demurred when 
she mentioned it, but he had been so pleased that Ed- 
ward was willing and quietly anxious to go, that noth- 
ing else seemed of much importance. And so it had 
been settled, and here they were this glorious day in 
the last of April, with the city far behind, feasting 
their eyes on the beauty and variety of a tropical 
forest. Madame had insisted on riding alone with 
Anton to drive, while the four young people were in 
the larger carriage in front with Dr. LaTerette as 
driver. Heloise did not like this arrangement, and 
looked back anxiously at her mother now and then. 
i8o 


THE DEMON OF MONT PELEE i8i 

‘‘I do wish,” she said, just as Dr. LaTerette stopped 
the carriage at Violet’s request, beside a great clump 
of giant bamboo, ‘‘that mamma would give up the 
ascent of le Calvaire. I fear she is not strong enough 
for so much exertion.” 

“I am quite sure, Mile. Petit,” said Dr. LaTerette, 
“that you need feel no alarm on that account. In 
April, and at that altitude, it would not be warm 
enough to make the exertion dangerous. In fact, it 
may do your mother good.” 

Heloise was not convinced, but she said no more 
and turned her attention to Violet, who was saying, 
“To me, the graceful bamboo with its swaying green 
plumes is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in 
these hills.” 

“Oh, how can you think that as beautiful,” said 
Dr. LaTerette, “as a great clump of forest trees, such 
as you see beyond that stream, garlanded and linked 
together by the lianas, with their crimson and white 
bloom? Do you not think that wonderful and beauti- 
ful?” appealing to Mme. Petit, whose carriage had 
stopped just back of theirs. 

“Wonderful, yes,” she replied. “Not beautiful ! It 
almost makes me shudder to see how those great trees 
have lost their freedom, chained together like galley 
slaves, with bands of steel, as it were, not able to see 
the sun, or feel the soft breezes, or bow to the strong 
storm blast. It makes me think of — ” 

“Of what, mamma?” asked Heloise, wondering at 


i 82 the prophet of MARTINIQUE 


the suppressed excitement in her mother’s voice, and at 
her sudden pause. 

‘‘Oh nothing, child,” said Madame. “It might re- 
mind me of a strong man enslaved by some evil habit.” 

“Anton,” said Dr. LaTerette, anxious to change 
the subject, “what do you think is the most beautiful 
sight in this beautiful forest?” 

“De big mango tree,” said Anton without the least 
hesitation, “wid its dark green leabes an’ its golden 
fruit.” 

Dr. LaTerette, remembering Anton’s great fondness 
for mangoes, smiled and suggested that he had allowed 
his stomach to prejudice his eyes. But Anton made it 
clear it was simply the beauty of the tree which ap- 
pealed to his unprejudiced eye. Then turning to Hel- 
oise, who was still looking curiously and a little anx- 
iously at her mother. Dr. LaTerette said, “And you?” 

“Oh, everybody knows,” she replied, “that the tree- 
fern is my favorite. It is yours, too, isn’t it, mamma?” 
Heloise seemed unable to take her attention long from 
her mother. 

“No, dear,” Madame replied, then lapsed into silence 
again. 

But Heloise persisted. “Then show us what you 
think is more beautiful.” 

“Just that,” said Madame, pointing to a silk cotton 
tree, hung with silken flowers. Bees buzzed about it, 
humming birds flitted here and there in its branches, 
and a wren sat on an outward twig turning her head 
to one side, and apparently eyeing these intruders in 


THE DEMON OF MONT PELEE 183 

her domain. ‘‘It is such a bright, cheerful, hospitable, 
comforting picture,’' and Madame’s sigh did not es- 
cape either Heloise or Dr. LaTerette. 

Through this conversation, as indeed all the way, 
Edward had sat in silence, his eyes fixed on the scene 
through which they had passed, seemingly content to 
see all the beauty spread out before him. But now 
he looked slowly from one to another and said, “I 
scarcely see how you can select this and that as the 
most beautiful. It is all so beautiful,— so beau- 
tiful ! in this most beautiful land on earth, — ^my 
native land ! And it is the great variety that 
makes much of the beauty. We should not want 
our vegetation all bamboos, or tree-ferns, or lianas, 
however beautiful they are. We could spare none of 
the variety. Not a palm or oak, not a mahogany or 
iron wood, or any other forest tree. We want all our 
blooms, the yellow and blue, as well as the crimson 
and white lianas, the acacia and orange blossom, the 
oleander and hibiscus, the moonflower and morning- 
glory, the jasmine and lily, the vanilla and all the other 
beautiful orchids, the hillia — all the thousand floral 
beauties. Not a vine, not an airplant or parasite can 
we spare. What a wonderful land of beauty it is, 
to be destined for destruction!” He spoke sadly, but 
there was no excitement in his tone, no gleam in his 
eyes. But the sentence, the first of the kind on 
this beautiful drive, cast a little gloom over all save 
Anton. 

Ignoring Edward’s last remark, he said, “No mo’ 


i 84 the prophet OF MARTINIQUE 

couldn’t we spa’e none ob de fruits neide’, M’sieu’ Ed- 
wa’d.” 

“True,” assented Edward, and the sad look on his 
face at once gave way to an amused smile, “we want 
all our wonderful variety of fruits. We want our 
limes and oranges, our bananas and mangoes, our 
pineapples and christophines, our avocado pears and — ” 

“Oh, Edward,” said Heloise, putting her hand play- 
fully over his mouth, “you make me so hungry! 
Couldn’t I devour an avocado pear at this present mo- 
ment I” 

“Well dear, I think perhaps Joan put some stewed 
christophines in the lunch,” said Edward, as he looked 
laughingly into Heloise’s eyes, for he knew stewed 
christophines were her especial abomination. But she 
laughed until the woods echoed the musical sound, so 
pleased was she that Edward’s mood had taken this 
quiet happy turn. 

“Yes, it is the great variety — ” began Edward again, 
but then he stopped, leaned over and touched Dr. La- 
Terette on the arm, saying almost in a whisper, “Stop ! 
Listen I” and holding up a finger enjoined silence on the 
others. Heloise looked into his face anxiously, fear- 
ing one of his wild fancies had possession of him, 
but his face was alight with smiling expectancy. Just 
then a note of the most enchanting music that has ever 
fallen on mortal ears was borne to them from the dark 
depth of the forest. 

“Oh-h-h !” softly breathed Heloise, “it is the siMeur 


THE DEMON OF MONT PELEE' 185 

montagne! Can you see it, Edward ? I know its note, 
but I have never seen one.” 

It was Edward's time to put his hand over her lips, 
so desirous was he not to lose a note. But with his 
other hand he pointed into the forest, just as the single 
note was repeated, clear, prolonged, strangely thrilling, 
sweetly solemn ! Another pause. All peered into 
the green twilight of the woods in the direction whence 
the sound came, and saw, gracefully poised on a frail 
twig, the dainty creature with the flecks of white on 
his dull brown feathers and the little spot of red be- 
neath his throat, seeming to grow larger as he made 
ready for his third note, a mellow note of surprising 
tenderness and supernatural sweetness. 

“Listen,” said Edward softly, “that is but the pre- 
lude. We may perhaps be privileged to hear the song.” 
Then from that tiny songster's swelling throat poured 
forth such strains of divine melody as the listeners 
could never forget! Madame for a brief time forgot 
her trouble. Dr. LaTerette bent forward and almost 
held his breath; tears came into Violet's eyes as she 
listened, but Heloise divided her attention, deriving as 
much pleasure from her brother's face as from the 
transcendent sweetness of the bird's song. Edward's 
face wore an exalted look, as it were a mingled ex- 
pression of lofty thoughts, noble sentiments and ten- 
derest emotions. And long after the last palpitating 
note of the exquisite song had died into unwelcome 
stillness, he remained silent and preoccupied. Then, 
as if he had noted nothing in the scene through which 


i86 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


they had passed as they wound on in the heights, as 
if he had not heard a word of their conversation in 
the meantime, but still heard only the wondrous strains 
of the mountain whistler, he said slowly, fervently, ‘‘I 
am so glad he pours out his song for me to hear this 
morning of all mornings 

“Why ‘this morning of all mornings’?’’ asked Vio- 
let, with the old childish questioning in her great violet 
eyes. 

Edward started, a pained expression flitted for an 
instant over his face as he replied, “Because when again 
he sings those wonderful notes, I shall not be here to 
hear them.” And then, smiling into the questioning 
eyes, he added lightly, “I do not take a drive over the 
mornes to the crest every day.” 

A vague uneasiness crept over Violet. And again 
when they had reached the breezy crest of Morne 
Rouge, whence they could look upon the Atlantic on 
the one side, lashed by the never resting trade winds 
into white foam on the steel-powdered, black beach 
sands, and on the other side, upon the placid blue 
waters of the gently pulsing Caribbean Sea, where not 
a breath of wind angered the waves as they softly 
lapped the yellow beach sands; whence they could see 
the beautiful, fertile valley of Champ Flore on the one 
side, and on the other the wilder beauty of the Roxe- 
lane; whence they could view the forest-clad mornes 
and the distant Pitons of Carbet, while behind them 
loomed the cloud enveloped summit of Mont Pelee; — 
when they stood viewing in silence this wondrous 


THE DEMON OF MONT PELEE 187 

landscape, brilliant beneath the radiant smile of the 
southern sun and canopied with the dazzling blue of 
southern sky, Violet wondered if any one else noticed 
the note of pathos in Edward’s voice as he broke the 
silence by saying, ‘'Oh the marvelous loveliness of our 
fair land on this day ! As if it would tempt me !” 

“Tempt you to what, Edward?” 

Again the great questioning eyes were raised to 
his; again he started and the shade of pain that for a 
moment flitted over his face was deeper than before. 
But he smiled as if he were smiling down some pain 
and sadness and replied again lightly, “Tempts me 
to linger too long, and make us late to luncheon. But 
is it not tempting? Look beyond the mornes to the 
Peaks of Carbet. Such a wonderful blending of pur- 
ples and greens!” 

But Violet did not look at the landscape; she only 
looked at Edward’s face, trying to fathom the change in 
him which only seemed to the rest of the party cause 
for rejoicing, but which was slowly producing in her 
a vague, nameless fear. This fear caused her to 
watch him, to be on the alert; caused her to feel a 
settled uneasiness when it was arranged after lunch 
that Dr. LaTerette should accompany Madame Petit 
up le Calvaire, and the others should stay in Morne 
Rouge. Why must Dr. LaTerette leave them? Why 
could not Madame give up that plan ? Why was Hel- 
oise so blind to any danger? But what danger was 
there after all? None of these questions got beyond 
Violet’s own troubled thoughts, and Dr. LaTerette 


i88 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


went forth to le Calvaire with Madame, who began 
the ascent which so many devout pilgrims had made 
on Good Friday, up the steep slope of a morne higher 
than Morne Rouge, to one after another of fourteen 
little chapels and shrines, each portraying in relief some 
incident in the closing scene of Christ’s earthly life. 
It was a long, hard pilgrimage, but Madame felt that 
nothing else on earth would bring her a vestige of 
peace, so she began the ascent of that steep prayer 
road. 

When Dr. LaTerette and Mme. Petit left Violet 
with Heloise and Edward, lingering in the beautiful 
church at Morne Rouge, her strange uneasiness in- 
creased. She would not leave Edward’s side for a 
moment, and the beauty of the church, with its fres- 
coes and its valuable paintings and its virgin in her 
rich magnificent robes was lost on her. When Heloise 
had gone to the front and knelt before the Virgin 
and she was left near the entrance by Edward’s side, 
an unaccountable loneliness came over her, and she was 
relieved to see Father Mary enter. When the priest’s 
cheerful face and kindly gray eyes were turned to- 
ward them, Edward instantly knelt and said, ‘‘I crave 
your blessing. Father Mary, on this day.” 

The repetition of that last phrase chilled Violet for 
an instant, but a quiet and peace stole over her, when 
the rich voice of the good priest spoke words of bene- 
diction. And when he had passed on up the aisle 
and Edward said softly, ‘‘Let us go,” she passed out 


From Stereography Copyright iqo2y by Ujidcrivood &= Underwood. 



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THE DEMON OF MONT PELEE 189 


of the church and into the street by his side, without at 
first any feeling of fear. 

But as they went on she glanced up into his face 
and saw there suppressed excitement. She laid her 
hand on his arm and said softly, “Where are we going, 
Edward dear?’' 

“We must make the ascent,” he replied in a whisper. 

“Oh !” she said in a tone of surprise, and yet of as- 
sent, feeling a little relieved that he wished to go where 
Dr. LaTerette was. After this one syllable she was 
silent for a time, while she pondered on this new fancy 
of Edward’s. She had never known him wrought 
upon in regard to religious ceremonies before, but she 
reflected that the emotions arising from the beautiful 
scenery, the song of the bird, the talk about le Calvaire, 
the church, the blessing of Father Mary, had all com- 
bined to produce this effect. But Heloise would be 
alarmed. They must not go without Heloise. “Would 
we not better return and bring Heloise with us?” she 
said softly, again laying her hand on his arm. 

“No !” he replied hastily, looking into her eyes with 
a startled look in his own. “Heloise must not come! 
Heloise must not make the ascent!” Violet saw it 
would be useless to insist, so she walked on quietly 
at his side, watching his face change under growing 
excitement. “The ascent is long,” he said presently, 
taking her arm, “long and steep ; and we must hurry !” 
Then they walked on in silence for a time, but Violet 
could see that his excitement increased with every step, 
and he rushed on in more and more breathless haste. 


190 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

She wondered what he would do if she should call on 
that sturdy negro they had just passed to help her 
take him back to the church, to Heloise and Father 
Mary. But he might not brook interference from a 
stranger and there might be trouble. Oh, if Anton 
would only appear! No, they would better go on to 
le Calvaire. But they must have come a long way, and 
where was le Calvaire? She took her eyes from Ed- 
ward’s pale face and looked about her. Suddenly a 
startling doubt flashed upon her mind. 

“Edward dear,” she said, still speaking softly and 
trying to conceal her alarm, “are we going to le Cal- 
vaire?” 

“No!” he replied in a wondering tone, “we do not 
go up that way ; we will go straight up here.” 

“Up where, Edward?” in a frightened tone. 

“Up to Lake Palmiste. I thought you understood, 
Violet.” 

“Oh no! Edward, no! We must not go up there! 
You said you wanted to make the ascent; I — I thought 
you meant le Calvaire.” 

“No,” he replied, “the ascent of Mont Pelee to Lake 
Palmiste,” and all the time he was hurrying on. 

The way was very steep now and Violet was breath- 
less from exhaustion and terror. “O Edward,” she 
pleaded, “take me back! I can not go on; take me 
back! Take me back! I dare not go on to Lake Pal- 
miste — I dare not!” 

He looked down into her face as he hurried her on, 
the deepened shade of pain crept over his face and 


THE DEMON OF MONT PELEE 


191 

stayed there, and the note of pathos she had noticed 
before was in his voice as he said, had meant to 
come alone, Violet, but you stayed near me and I 
thought it meant you were to come. I wish I might 
take you back, but it is not to be. I can not. I can 
not ! I must go on !” 

“Why must you, Edward?’’ The words almost 
choked her she so feared the answer. 

“The demon of Mont Pelee that lives at the bot- 
tom of Lake Palmiste has sent for me.” She shuddered 
at the implication in these words. Then she called with 
all her puny might, but she was so frightened her voice 
sounded weak even in her own ears. There was no 
answer, save a faint echo on before, and Edward said, 
“Hear the demon of Mont Pelee answer you !” 

They must be nearing the fatal spot. It seemed to 
her hours they had been on the way. She could 
never afterwards have any idea of the time, or of 
the way they had taken. She could not even remem- 
ber by what street they had left Morne Rouge, so pos- 
sessed was her mind with ever growing fear and dread. 
What should she do? She turned to look back and 
saw with sinking heart Morne Rouge, but a picturesque 
group of toy cottages nestling far below. She looked 
with longing eyes at the church, with its now diminu- 
tive spire pointing to the illimitable heavens. Oh, why 
had she not spoken to Heloise and Father Mary ere 
she left the church ? Why had she not appealed to the 
sturdy negro to aid her ? Why had she not called while 
yet there was someone to hear her? What could she 


192 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

do now? Suddenly she sank down on the ground and 
said, “O Edward, I am completely exhausted. I can- 
not go a step farther! You must take me back!'' 

Edward answered not a word, but he picked her up 
in his arms as if she were an infant, and without the 
least slackening his pace pressed right on up the rugged 
steep. Then she fully realized how utterly helpless she 
was against his almost superhuman strength. She 
could only plead with him. She appealed to his love 
for Heloise, for Madame, for his father; but he only 
replied that she did not understand, that it was be- 
cause he loved them all so much that he was going. 
All her pleadings were of no avail. She allowed him 
still to carry her, thinking it might exhaust him and 
cause him to give it up, or at least delay them. But 
he seemed to feel no fatigue. She closed her eyes and 
tried to pray; but before she could frame a petition, 
there came before her closed eyes such a terrible vision 
of a pale, cold face — a face so dear ! and draggled yel- 
low hair lying at the bottom of Lake Palmiste, that 
she opened her eyes quickly to notice that they were 
in the clouds which shut out earth and heaven! And 
in all the universe there were only Edward, herself 
and the Demon of Mont Pelee! She started at the 
wildness of that thought and told herself she must 
have her wits about her. For a vague plan had begun 
to form in her racked brain. And she soon — oh, so 
soon! had need of some plan, for they were descend- 
ing and now, even now! were near the brink of that 
terrible dark lake in Mont Pelee's old crater, Lake Pal- 


THE DEMON OF MONT PELEE 


193 


miste, and Edward was attempting to put her from him 
and was saying, ‘‘Good-bye, Violet, good-bye!” 

“No!” she fairly shrieked in her terror, “no! not 
good-bye! What do you mean?” And she flung her 
arms about his neck and clung to him frantically. For 
a moment he clasped her to his breast in such a close 
embrace that it hurt her, and in that instant the vague, 
half-formed plan in her mind became clear, and fixed, 
and a new strength came to her. Ere he spoke again, 
she knew what she should do. 

“Yes, Violet, don’t you see,” he said, pointing and 
looking with wild gaze at the dark water, “the demon 
of Mont Pelee? There! in the middle of the lake! 
Don’t you — ” 

“Yes,” she interrupted, looking where his finger 
pointed, and then looking into his face, “I do see him ! 
And he is beckoning ; but it is not for you, Edward ! He 
is beckoning for meH 

“You!” he echoed and brought his eyes from the 
lake and fastened them on her face. “You, Violet!” 

“Yes,” she replied, “he is beckoning for me, — and 
calling ! Do you not hear him ? Calling, ‘Violet, Vio- 
let !’ Do not keep me ! I must go !” She unclasped her 
hands from about his neck and put one hand against 
his chest, as if she would push him back. “Do not 
hinder me, I must go! The demon calls!” Turning 
suddenly directly facing the lake, she stretched out her 
arms and cried, “I come ! I will make — ” 

But Edward snatched her in his arms and turning 
fled in frantic haste away from the spot, saying fiercely. 


194 the prophet OF MARTINIQUE 

“No! he shall not have you — not you!’' Violet, see- 
ing her advantage, struggled and begged him to let 
her go back, and bade him hear the voice calling her, 
calling in angry tones now, because she was not obe- 
dient. But he only fled the more wildly, moving safely 
over dangerous places as one who walks in his sleep, 
saying still more fiercely, “No, never! Never! I shall 
never let you go until you are safe under my mother’s 
protection. The demon of Mont Pelee has cheated 
me, and I shall never go to his home again, never!” 
Then she knew the victory was won, and over-strained 
nature gave way. 

She knew no more until she opened her eyes on an 
excited but thankful group, of whom Madame was 
hysterical, Heloise was tearful. Dr. LaTerette was peni- 
tent, Father Mary was sympathetic and kind, and Ed- 
ward was quietly watchful. 

Violet soon let them know they were not to ques- 
tion her before Edward. On reflection she feared that 
the event might lead to Edward’s confinement, so she 
told no one but Dr. LaTerette the full particulars of 
that dreadful ascent to Lake Palmiste. He agreed with 
her that it would not be best to tell M. and Mme. Petit 
and Heloise, and added, “The clouds gathering over 
this household of our adoption are thickening fast, 
Violet, and when the storm breaks its fury will fall 
on the defenseless head of the one nearest and dearest 
to me, as well as on Edward.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE VOICE OF WARNING 

D usk crept down from the mornes on St. Pierre, 
that last Thursday evening of its existence, and 
the clear, starry, moonless night came on apace. 
Victor LaTerette sank wearily into a seat on the 
piazza, fixed his eyes on the stars of the southern cross, 
and fell into a reverie so gloomy that the night seemed 
too bright with its intense starlight; the faint strains 
of band music from the plaza and the many toned music 
of the myriad night insects seemed a painful discord, 
and all the universe was out of tune. Was he to be 
baffied in all his undertakings? Were all his treasured 
plans to come to naught forever more? His faith in 
Edward’s gradual recovery from his malady, as he 
grew older, had been so strong; and now for a week 
Edward’s case had been much worse, and his brain, on 
fire with its wild fancies, had scarcely rested in that 
time; and he, the constant, vigilant guard, was glad 
now of this little respite while Edward talked with 
his father. Must he give it up? Must he admit to 
himself at last that Edward was only a maniac ? Must 
it come to the point at last that Edward must be con- 
fined ? He struggled against the conviction. He loved 
Edward as a brother, and he wanted still to believe that 
195 


196 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


he would yet come into his heritage, full, sane man- 
hood. He tried to picture himself telling M. Petit that 
he would no longer be guardian companion of Edward, 
because his state — but he could get no farther, even in 
fancy. Of late the growing look of pain on M. Petit’s 
face haunted him. It went to his heart to see this 
man, old before his time, sorrowing for his first-born, 
and clinging tenaciously to his cold, haughty reserve re- 
garding him. 

Then M. Cordot baffled him. Physician as he was, 
he did not understand the power that man held over 
Violet; and he was not able to determine whether it 
was the same kind of power he held over Madame 
Petit. He went over all the circumstances since his 
first sight of M. Cordot in the botanical garden, and felt 
completely baffled. 

But ever present, as he went over all these disap- 
pointments, was that other heavier disappointment that 
Heloise could never be more to him than she was now. 
He had been mistaken in himself. He had thought he 
could lay aside his love for Heloise as something it 
would be folly to indulge, when it could only end in 
pain; but it rose in mighty power and refused to be 
laid aside. Useless for him to tell himself he could 
not worship a beautiful face ! Equally useless for him 
to tell himself there were many women with just as 
noble character as Heloise! This did not alter the 
case. It was not because of Heloise’s beautiful face, 
or even because of her nobility of character that he 
could not but love her. No, there is that intangible, in- 


THE VOICE OF WARNING 


197 


definable something, aside from personal appearance, 
or even strength and nobility of character, that makes 
the attraction of one person for another, the affinity 
of one soul for another, that calls forth a great, domi- 
nant love. And Dr. LaTerette knew his love for Hel- 
oise was irrevocable, abiding, and not to be laid aside. 
But, failing in this, he had thought he could give Hel- 
oise up and go on living in the same house with her, 
content to serve her by devotion to her brother. But 
this evening he realized that a man’s love is not made 
of that kind of stuff, and the torture of constant self- 
repression was beginning to seem beyond his endur- 
ance. To see her every day, to look into her eyes, to 
hear her voice, to speak with her and yet always to 
so control his own eye and voice and speech and man- 
ner that they should betray nothing of the flood of 
feeling that surged through his being whenever she 
was near — ^this required almost superhuman effort. 
Surely there was nothing left to him but flight. He 
would go back to France. There in hard work, he 
would try to bury his deep disappointment. It all 
looked dull, gloomy, joyless. A long life, possibly, of 
hard work with no return. And then — ? 

This brought him face to face with another trouble. 
Of late, in the midst of life’s disappointments, had 
come to him, as comes to so many, that most depressing 
of all troubles, a tottering religious belief. And this 
evening he tried to gather up the fragments of a shat- 
tered faith in God. Back in France he had met French 
free thought and cynicism unscathed, . and had come to 


198 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

Martinique with a strong faith in his God and his 
religion. And with his hopeful vision of Edward’s 
recovery, had in those early days of his stay in Mar- 
tinique mingled a dream of M. Petit’s bitter cynicism 
being turned into grateful faith ; but he himself had not 
then tasted life’s bitterness. Since then, had come 
upon him disappointment, pain, heart-sickness, soul- 
weariness, and now he was ready to ask, ^‘Is not M. 
Petit right?” At one time Violet had given him a new 
trend to his religious thought and he was very near 
to the Protestant belief of Christ, a personal presence 
in the heart and life. Then Violet fell under the 
strange spell of M. Cordot, and the words that had kept 
ringing through his head became worse than meaning- 
less to him, for it seemed He had not proved a suffi- 
cient refuge. But he had not found it possible to 
go back to his own formal religion with his former 
faith. This evening he was more faithless than ever in 
his life before. And yet, as he gazed into the deep, 
dark vault of heaven, beyond the stars, into immensity, 
his thoughts went forth in something like a prayer: 
‘‘Oh, if there is a power beyond the stars that ever 
looks down on this earth with kindly eye, or reaches 
out a powerful helping hand to struggling humanity, 
would I knew that power and the avenue of approach 
to it! I need help.” 

Just then he heard a light step on the piazza and 
knew by the pounding of his heart that it could be- 
long to no other than Heloise. 

“Dr. LaTerette, is Edward — not so well?” 


THE VOICE OF WARNING 


199 


Involuntarily he arose at the sound of her voice, 
which had a touch of the confidential tone she had been 
wont to use in talking to him of Edward before that 
painful restraint came between them, and he knew then 
that he should not go back to France but should stay on 
and endure all the torture for the chance of just this. 

“No, Mile. Petit,” he replied, “not quite so well for 
a week past.” All the sadness of all his gloomy re- 
flections was in his tone. 

Then Heloise, with a little quiver of alarm in her 
voice, “Is there nothing I can do ?” 

Dr. LaTerette, to whom the world already looked 
less gloomy, replied, “You always do much for Ed- 
ward. More than you know. But — yes, there is 
something else you can do. Persuade your father — 
you can usually have your way with him — not to op- 
pose Edward in his plans to furnish his retreats beyond 
the morne with everything necessary for comfort. You 
remember he was inclined to oppose Edward in his 
desire to build the retreats, but I pleaded that it would 
give Edward employment and satisfy him, and the 
details of the work would keep his mind from danger- 
ous ground. To be sure, I couldn’t say it just so to your 
father, for he has never acknowledged — even to me — 
that there is any dangerous ground for Edward’s mind. 
It proved healthful work for him, but now — he needs 
still more to be employed. Furnishing these retreats, 
even taking such eatables as could be kept and stowing 
them, could do no harm and would not be a great 
expense.” 


200 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


‘‘Oh, it is not the expense,” Heloise hastened to say, 
“that father cares for. But he cannot bear to see 
Edward do those things that will stamp him insane. 
Poor father ! It is such a bitter disappointment to him ! 
Few fathers love their sons as he loves Edward. All 
the pride of his life has centered in him. I cannot ex- 
plain why, but I know that even my brother’s — misfor- 
tune has made my father’s love for him greater. I 
understand the feeling. I would do anything for Ed- 
ward, Dr. LaTerette, anything!” 

Dr. LaTerette wondered if it would be possible for 
that sweet voice ever to express such a depth of feeling 
for any other man than her brother. He also wondered 
how he could have thought a few minutes before that 
he could desert them and run back to France to try to 
run away from his own pain. In the midst of these 
thoughts Heloise was saying, “I’ll see father yet this 
evening and get his consent to your plan. And — Dr. 
LaTerette, father is — father’s strange pride keeps him, 
I fear, from expressing the gratitude he — the gratitude 
we all feel for your unselfish — ” 

“Please don’t mention it, Heloise ; it is not so much. 
I love Edward.” 

“Yes, yes, I know,” she said hurriedly; “you are so 
devoted to Edward. I can never thank you for it. If 
there were anything I could do, if there were any re- 
turn—” 

“There is a return! O, Heloise, I — ” He seized 
her hand and burning words were on his lips. Then he 
suddenly stopped short. What was he about to do? 


THE VOICE OF WARNING 


201 


Take advantage of her gratitude for his services ? Ap- 
peal to her love for Edward instead of her love for him ? 
Put her in a position that her great sense of obligation 
to him might influence her to — No! He must never 
do that! She wore a single lily, and as he bent over 
her its perfume brought back to him a vivid memory of 
the words which she had spoken to Edward that day 
in the cemetery, and which had come to his ear on the 
lily perfumed air, ‘TVe been thinking that I should 
never marry, never !” He remembered he had thought 
them meant for his ear. Evidently this could not be 
her return ; and he must not pain her by speaking the 
words that were on his lips. The little trembling hand 
was almost crushed in his for one brief instant ; then he 
relinquished it and went on in a low, constrained tone, 
to patch out his broken speech. “I have my reward. 
Your mother's confidence and gratitude, your father's 
trust and unspoken thanks, Edward's love and most of 
all your — such words as you have spoken to me to- 
night, — these are my reward. I ask for no greater." 

“Sometimes," she faltered, “I am afraid that — I 
know it is a confining life for you, and I have feared 
that the time would come — do not think me wholly 
selfish! — that the time would come when you would 
think you must leave us to — " 

“Please say no more, Heloise," he hastened to inter- 
rupt. Again he took her hand for a moment, but 
gently, as he went on, “As long as I can be of any 
service to you, as long as it is any comfort to you to 
have me near — to have me with Edward, I shall never 


202 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


leave you. There is nothing I would not do for — 
but Heloise was gone and Dr. LaTerette was left alone 
with the brilliant southern night and his own re- 
flections. 

Heloise did not fail to win her father over to her 
view of the case, and thus it happened that Edward 
was encouraged and helped in his plans for furnishing 
the two retreats beyond the morne, and Friday and 
Saturday he was very busy with the details of his plan 
for having a safe, comfortable retreat from the fury of 
Mont Pelee, which he predicted was to be poured out 
on St. Pierre. But this did not quiet his restless spirit. 
Not simply an occasional attack now disturbed his 
mind, but day and night he was possessed with one wild 
idea of escape from Mont Pelee. He scarcely slept at 
all and hourly the fire in his veins impelled him more 
strongly to wild speech and action. Hourly the hot 
brightness of his eyes gleamed out more startlingly 
from his pale, drawn face. Dr. LaTerette redoubled his 
vigilance and never left his side. Heloise tried all her 
arts, and grieved to find much of her childhood in- 
fluence over him was gone. Violet’s gentle voice and 
gentle touch sometimes brought back the old quiet into 
his eyes, but only for an instant. 

Despite all their care and vigilance and loving re- 
straint, his Voice was often heard during the next two 
days on the street, in the home, in the market place, on 
the wharf, warning the people in his rich, musical, 
strangely earnest tones to flee from St. Pierre. And 
he had many listeners. There were those among them 


THE VOICE OF WARNING 


203 


who said that he was right, that Mont Pelee had been 
acting strangely for a few days, that there had been 
threatening thunder and mutterings, and a sifting of 
fine white ashes. Then they would go their way to 
their business or their pleasure and think no more about 
it. There were those who smiled and said, “The rav- 
ings of a maniac.’’ But there were also a few who 
turned away with blanched faces and hurried home to 
make preparations for a hasty departure from the city, 
saying, “It is the voice of a prophet.” 

“Ye people of a doomed city!” Edward’s voice ring- 
ing out in this sentence with a startling distinctness, 
instantly drew a greater throng about him in the mar- 
ket place. It was an excited throng, attracted by the 
speaker’s beautiful, pale face and yellow hair, in such 
contrast to those about him, by the strange, glinting 
fire in his eyes, the utter abandonment of the man to 
his subject, and the strange, metallic ring in his fervid 
and hitherto musical voice. The tone of pleading 
which had added a sweet pathos to his voice had now 
given place to a note of command. 

“Harken, ye foolish people of St. Pierre ! I cannot 
hold my peace. Destruction upon destruction is cried. 
This city is doomed ! and its end cometh speedily. Saw 
ye not the river of fire that ran down the seamed side of 
poor old tortured Mont Pelee and swept everything 
before it, destroying the Guerin factory and many hu- 
man lives? I declare to you that is but the faintest 
foreshadowing of the awful horror to come! ‘One 
woe is passed, and behold there come two woes more 


204 the prophet of MARTINIQUE 

hereafter.’ Flee, oh flee from this city of destruction ! 
It is now too late for anything but flight. Ye have not 
the chance that was offered to Nineveh of old. It is 
too late, too late! Though ye repent in sackcloth and 
ashes, the calamity will not be withheld. ‘For the day 
of their calamity is at hand. For a fire is kindled and 
shall set on fire the foundations of the mountains and 
shall destroy them with a mighty destruction.’ Oh, be 
ye warned and flee from this place, even as Lot fled 
from Sodom. ‘Thus saith the Lord, behold waters 
rise up out of the north and shall be an overflowing 
flood, and shall overflow the land and all that is there- 
in, the city and all that dwell therein.’ As I live, St. 
Pierre shall be as Sodom, a perfect desolation I ‘For I 
will bring evil from the north, and a great destruction I’ 
Did ye not see the great black coffin that hung sus- 
pended over Mont Pelee? ’Twas the coffin of this city, 
this beautiful city, this city of my birth ! Nothing can 
save her, even though every inhabitant of St. Pierre 
should on his bleeding knees make the ascent of le 
Calvaire, bareheaded beneath the scorching glare of this 
tropic sun, and should at every shrine with supplication 
and tears of penitence offer up a prayer for deliverance, 
it would not avail to save our beautiful city. Her doom 
is sealed ! Oh, flee I Get you out of this place. ‘For the 
Lord will destroy with an overrunning flood; He will 
make an utter end of the place thereof.’ Saw ye not 
at the hour of midnight the fiery writing on the black 
cloud above Mont Pelee? It was the Lord’s hand- 
writing! And like His handwriting on the wall of 



ro:j^elane river and valley. 

After the eruption. 


V 








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THE VOICE OF WARNING 


205 


Belshazzar^s palace of old, it was the sentence of doom. 
It pronounced the doom of this city. ‘Escape for thy 
life, look not behind thee, neither stay thou in all the 
plain. Escape to the mountain lest thou be consumed.' 
Oh, I had a vision of dire destruction ! It came out of 
the north; the destruction of this fair city. ‘I beheld 
the mountains and lo, they trembled, and all the hills 
moved lightly. I beheld and lo, the fruitful place was a 
wilderness and all the birds of the heavens were fled.' 
In my vision, all St. Pierre's bright houses, all her 
lovely gardens, all her stately palms were one vast 
desolation. And no man or beast drank at her springs 
and fountains, for they were all dried up and her streets 
were no more clean, for all her clean streams that flow 
through her streets to cleanse them were dried up, and 
all her beautiful fountains were silent forevermore. 
The bareheaded, barefooted washerwomen no more 
descended the steps to the fair Roxelane to wash their 
linen in its pure waters fresh from the mountain height, 
for the very source of the river was dried up. I beheld 
and lo, there was no man, but it had become the city of 
death. I listened, and there was no sound of bare feet 
on the pavement, no music of Creole talk and laughter 
and song, no voice of prayer, no wail of an infant, no 
song of bird or chirrup of insect, but the stillness of 
death, broken only by the hushed whisper of the waves 
on the desolate shore, and the faintest last echo of one 
wailing, dirge-peal from cathedral bells !" The speak- 
er's voice had sunk almost to a whisper and he now 
stood silently pointing one finger at the cathedral 


2o6 the prophet of MARTINIQUE 


towers. “The vision is true/’ he went on. “Oh, flee 
for your lives ! Lean not on a false feeling of security, 
because, forsooth, the governor is here! Because the 
soldiers are coming! Governor and soldiers! I tell 
you all man’s puny might against Mont Pelee’s fury 
will be as if the hand of an infant tried to stay the 
mighty ocean’s tide ! Only flight is left to you. Flee ! 
Do not wait to — ” 

M. Petit’s hand was laid on Edward’s shoulder in 
gentle but firm restraint, and the father’s voice, so 
fraught with pride and pain, said, “Come, Edward, we 
will flee. We will go to France this day, if you wish.” 

Edward looked at his father for an instant, uncom- 
prehendingly, then a light flashed into his face; he 
turned upon his father the rare sweet smile of his 
childhood and said, “Yes, father, do. Go at once! 
Take mother and Heloise, and father, take Violet, do !” 

“Then come, Edward, we will go.” 

“I ?” He drew back a step and passed his hand over 
his brow in the old way thrice, and then said, “Not I, 
father! You are too late! I know not whether the 
evil spirit of Mont Pelee requires my life, but this I 
know, I must stay as long as possible to warn others. 
That grim old mountain has told his direful purpose 
to me only. I must publish it ! But I will go with 
you, father, until you are ready to start.” 

M. Petit led his son away with haughty mien and 
proud step, but the bitterness of death was in his heart. 


CHAPTER XVII 


MADAME FAILS TO THINK OF A PLAN 

V EVINE walked slowly down the white highway 
leading from Morne Rouge to St. Pierre, alone 
in the early morning, bearing her tray on her 
head. But she was not dressed as a carrier girl, not 
clad in the simple douillette, the single robe of the 
porteuse, but wore a bright-hued jupe tastefully ar- 
ranged and a silk foulard. Her headdress beneath the 
pad on which rested her tray, instead of a plain 
mouchoir, was a madras, stiff with brilliant orange 
stripes painted by old Fabette's fingers ; and the collier 
choux about her neck consisted of a triple strand of 
gold beads minutely graven. She came on past the 
jardin des plantes to a little shrine built in the hillside. 
Here she paused and looked at the light suspended be- 
fore the entrance, which some pious hand had lighted 
the night before and which still glimmered faintly in 
the morning twilight. She looked at the beautiful 
symmetry of a large arbre du voyageur which overhung 
the tiny chapel. She watched a lizard intent on his 
breakfast as he .darted out from the low lying foliage 
of a moon vine to chase a gaudy insect that would never 
more see the sun. For a time she stood thus, motion- 
less as a statue, then she removed the tray from her 
207 


2o8 the prophet of MARTINIQUE 


head and placed it on the ground, which she could not 
have done alone if it had been heavily laden, removed 
the toche on which the tray rested, placed it also on the 
ground, slowly ascended the steps and knelt before the 
mater dolorosa within the shrine. For a little time she 
knelt with bowed head, then lifted her eyes to the sor- 
rowful face of the image, but no syllable of prayer 
passed her lips. And there was a look of sadness on 
her young face that rivaled that of the carved face 
within the shrine. When at last she rose, turned, and 
slowly descended the steps, the little lamp suspended 
above her head flickered and went out. She replaced 
the toche on her head, lifted her tray again to its place 
and retraced her steps, back past the jardin des plantes, 
past the great stone house that stood on a terrace cut 
in the hillside above the road, and on to where an un- 
frequented path turned off from the highway and 
wound past a deserted peasant’s cottage, almost cov- 
ered with a tangle of vines. Here she turned, scru- 
tinizing the white highway she had just passed over, 
then murmuring, “It mus’ be jes about de time he say.” 
She began a restless pacing back and forth, looking 
anxiously toward St. Pierre at each turn. Vevine was 
changed ! Was it because the sun still lingered behind 
the great mountain barrier that there was a fainter 
glint of sunshine in her eyes, less of sunlight in her 
smile than on that other morn on the sunny Grande 
Anse coast? But no. The mountain shadows were 
lifting and the sun’s glory was creeping up from the 
sea upon St. Pierre just as M. Cordot appeared coming 


MADAME FAILS TO THINK 


209 

up the mountain road, and all the sunshine returned to 
Ve vine's eyes and smile. 

But none of it was reflected on M. Cordot’s face as 
he gave his hasty greeting and then said in low tones, 
‘'I knew you would come if you got my message. And 
now, Vevine, I have something very important to say 
to you. Here is a large sum of money. If I keep it in 
St. Pierre, I may have to divide it with a bad man. I 
trust you to take it and take care of it until to-morrow. 
I shall come to Grande Anse to-morrow and — ” 

“To-morrow! Oh, then you'll see — " 

“Never mind that now," said M. Cordot with a hasty 
gesture of annoyance and contempt; “you are to give 
all your thought to taking care of the money until I 
come with more. And you are to tell no one." 

His keen, compelling gaze was on the girl as if he 
would read her very soul, but she replied simply, look- 
ing unflinchingly into the sinister face before her, 
“M'sieu' know dat Vevine am ready to 'fend even wid 
he' life, ef dey is any call fo' dat, whateve' he trust to 
he'; an' M'sieu' know dat Vevine won' tell nobody." 

“That's right, Vevine," said he, perfectly satisfied. 
“When I come to Grande Anse with more money, then 
I shall not return to St. Pierre." 

“You gwine to live at Grande Anse?" 

“Well, you take good care of the money, Vevine, 
and we'll see what I'll do. Now, let me put it in your 
tray." Vevine lowered the tray and M. Cordot smiled 
at the queer array of articles therein — two clay pipes, 
three pith helmets, several gaudy but cheap turbans. 


210 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

and on top of all, a poupee-capresse, made of reddish 
brown leather to represent the capresse skin, and a 
poupee-negresse of black leather, both dressed in the 
height of Martinique style. “That is good, Vevine,’’ 
said he. “It matters not what is in the tray, so it is 
light and bulky. There ! No one would think of your 
having any money with that merchandise. Now, you 
are loaded. Remember, no one, not even Mirianette, 
is to know you have that money. If anything should 
happen, Vevine, — if I should fail to come, the money is 
yours.” 

M. Cordot turned and strode hastily back towards 
the town and Vevine stood erect and motionless in the 
shadow of the great mountain, with her load on her 
head, gazing after his retreating figure as he passed on 
beyond the jar din des plant es and into the town and 
was lost to view. Then she turned and started on her 
steep climb to Morne Rouge. 

Ere she has passed that stage of her journey, M. 
Cordot was making his call on Mme. Petit. 

“No, M. Cordot,” said Madame, half defiantly, half 
pleadingly, “I cannot do that. I have no claim on 
Edward’s money. You have all mine. I might have 
known that would not close your false lips. I have 
been a coward. I have given you forty thousand 
francs to try to purchase your silence, and all for 
nothing !” 

“No, it has not been for nothing. That money has 
been already sent from St. Pierre. I follow it to- 
morrow if you secure for me Edward’s money. If not, 


MADAME FAILS TO THINK 


211 


I stay to tell Heloise. She will probably choose to pur- 
chase the family honor by — ’’ 

A little wave of courage born of despair swept over 
Madame Petit. “Tell Heloise, then ! Do your worst ! 
I have lived a lie long enough ! This is one unending, 
dreadful nightmare to me !” 

“Then I will waken you out of your nightmare,” said 
M. Cordot slowly. “Perhaps the waking will be pleas- 
ant! Send Heloise in.” And all the fiendishness of 
pandemonium was in his smile. 

Madame's courage entirely forsook her and she said 
hastily, “Give me a little time to decide.” 

“No, not a minute to decide! But I will give you 
a little time to act. I will come back this evening at 
dusk to receive the money. I tell you I leave St. 
Pierre to-morrow morning early if I get the money.” 

Madame almost felt for the moment that she could 
steal in order to attain that result. “I will see you,” 
she replied faintly. “Leave me!” M. Cordot again 
indulged in that profuse display of teeth, but he went. 

And Joan, who had become an expert at eavesdrop- 
ping started out to follow cautiously, and beguiled her 
way with these thoughts: “Now Joan, ef dat dis- 
graceless son ob perdition git out ob yo' sight, yo’s not 
got de gumption ob yo' brack mudde', no’ de sneaken- 
ness ob yo’ white fadde’ an’ hain’ no right to lib on de 
earf nohow. I’s foun’ out dat he alius, afte’ he hab 
worricated Madame clean out ob he’ wits, go to fin’ dat 
ode’ meanest man ob creation. But ef he go to purga- 
tory to fin’ ’im I reckon Joan’ll jes make he’ hasty 


2 1 2 THE PROPHET OF MARTIN IQ UE 


entrance da too. La sakes alibe! hain' I ben in pur- 
gatory ebe’ sence he ben doin’ his debil’s wo’k in dis 
fambly? But I jes feels it in my bones an’ gizza’d dat 
I’s gwine to git de whole secret dis time !” 

Meanwhile Madame stood where M. Cordot left her, 
gazing hard at the green slopes and blue sky and cloud- 
capped grim mountain. Long she stood thus, while 
gradually two pink spots on her cheeks grew to crim- 
son, the lines about her mouth grew firm and a look, 
of resolution came into her eyes. Then she went to 
her own room, stood before the mirror, looking with 
half scorn, half pity at the face reflected there and said, 
“I’ve lived a lie, a lie! I! and now there is no other 
way. I will tell my hus — I will tell M. Petit every- 
thing. Oh, merciful heavens ! It will kill him !” 
Madame sank into a chair and buried her face in her 
hands, but not to weep. Her trouble was too deep for 
tears. But a moment she remained so, then threw 
herself on her knees before a shrine of the Holy 
Mother. Long she knelt in prayer, then she arose and 
going again to the mirror said to the white, miserable 
face there reflected, “I have settled it. I will tell him.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


JOAN TALKS 

L a, Missy Biolet, dat awful oncibilized Cordot, he 
am gwine to kill Edwa’d! I hea'd hm, Missy 
Biolet, I hea’d ’im 1 He say he am gwine to hab 
Edwa'd's money, dat he took to de — What dey calls 
’em? — to de ’treats, ef he haf to kill ’im!” Joan’s 
large eyes were larger than usual with excitement and 
her words rushed out in a tumbling torrent. ‘T fol- 
lowed ’im to dat house down da towa’d de wha’f — dat 
ole house wid de thick walls an’ de little blinky win- 
dows, an’ M. Cordot he went in an’ den I says to 
myse’f, ‘Da, Joan, yo’s gwine to miss dat secret yet.’ 
But purty soon out he come wid his brudde’ Satan, an’ 
dey went down to de wha’f. Powe’fu’ soon Joan had 
business at de wha’f, too, an’ when I jes happened 
round close to de spot dey was spilin’ wid deir pres- 
ences, dey was talkin’ ’bout de money. M. Cordot he 
say dat he’s gwine to see Madame, case mebbe she’d 
had some money, but dat fo’tin was playin’ into his 
han’. Whatebe’ he meant by dat I doan know, but he 
say dat he obscibered dat Edwa’d ca’ied his money to de 
’treats, an’ as soon as he see Madame, he’s gwine to 
go, an’ he was sho ob de money, case Edwa’d wouldn’t 
be no ’fense fo’ de money ’gainst him. But I tink to 


213 


214 the prophet of martin IQ UE 


myse’f dat he fo'got to count in Joan. Now it doan 
make no difference ’bout de money, dey’s alius money 
growin’ on the Petit palm tree. But Missy Biolet,” 
Joan’s voice sank to a whisper, *‘he will ! Dat man’ll kill 
Edwa’d ef he gits a chance ! An’ Missy Biolet,” con- 
tinued Joan with the air of one who had not yet told 
half, still speaking in a gruesome half whisper, ‘‘dey’s 
ben signs! dey’s ben heaps o’ tings dat am signs o’ 
trouble in de las’ few days. Yo’ know dey ’us actually 
a coffin dat stood obe’ Mont Pelee ; dat ’us not jes one o’ 
M’sieu’ Edwa’d’s fancies. An’ Missy Biolet! Anton 
say dat night befo’ las’ he hea’d de hurricum bi’d a 
sayin’, ‘twa-oo, twa-oo, twa-oo !’ an’ dat alius mean bad 
luck o’ some kind. An’ Missy Biolet !” at each repeti- 
tion of this Joan’s eyes became bigger and her manner 
more impressive, “ ’las night ’us de awfules’ night ob all 
fo’ signs, fo’ dey ’us a vampire! ’Deed an’ ’deed dey 
was, honey chile! come a floppin’ an’ a floppin’ roun’ 
de beranda an’ actin’ jes lak it ’us gwine to come in at 
de window. Oh, it ’us afte’ somebody’s blood! An’ 
jes I wanted to pray to all de saints dat it might be 
M’sieu’ Cordot’s blood it ’us afte’, but M’sieu’ Petit he 
am alius tellin’ me dat I mus’n mix my ’ligions, an’ so 
I did’n’. An’, Missy Biolet ! I hea’d wid my own ea’s, 
I did, I hea’d a diahlotinT 

“A diahlotin, Joan?” 

“Deed an’ ’deed, ’pon my soul. Missy Biolet, a 
diablotin! Fust ’un dese two ea’s ebe’ hea’d, a hollerin’ 
‘fru-o, fru-o, fru-o!’ An’ I say to myse’f instanter, 
‘Joan, dat am de diablotin, de debil bi’d, de bi’d o’ ill 


JOAN TALKS 


215 


omen. Now, Joan, dat do settle it! Sumpin dreadfu^ 
gwine to happen to dis househol’ ! Dat debil, Cordot, 
gwine to kill ’im ef he gits a chance 1’ ” 

“Well, Joan, don’t worry,” said Violet quietly; “he 
won’t have a chance. You know Dr. LaTerette never 
leaves Edward.” 

“Worry!” said Joan in fine scorn, as if all she had 
said had not a grain of worry in it. “Worry ! La Missy 
Biolet, doan yo’ tink Joan am gwine to worry; an’ 
doan yo’ tink Joan am gwine to trust Dr. LaTerette. 
I’s not gwine to leabe my post in the thickest ob de 
fight. I’s ’eluded yo’s got to fight de debil in his own 
way ; an’ I’s gwine right now to put on de debiless dress 
dat I had fo’ de ca’nibal. He am powe’fu’ close to de 
edge ob de cliff, dat M. Cordot am, an’ I’s jes itchin’ to 
gib ’im de las’ push. Oh, ’deed dey’s mo’ to tell dat 
I hea’d to-day, honey, dey’s mo’ to tell dat’ 11 jes fix 
’im! You see dat M. Cordot, he — ” 

Here Joan was interrupted by the sudden appear- 
ance of Mirianette at the doorway. Unbidden she 
came into the room with her long, springy stride and 
she stopped before Violet. Her towering form, sad 
eyes and solemn, unchanging face gave Violet a little 
shiver. Without any greeting she said, “I hab a lette’ 
fo’ M. Petit. It’s powe’fu’ impo’tant, I specs.” 

Violet took the letter and as her eyes chanced to fall 
on it, she saw that the address, though but a hasty 
scrawl, was in Edward’s handwriting, and a vague 
dread seized her. What could it mean ? She did not 
know Edward had left the house. Surely Dr. LaTer- 


2i6 the prophet of MARTINIQUE 


ette was with him. But what could this letter mean? 
With an effort she said, “Joan, you may take the note 
to M. Petit You will find him in his own room, I 
think.’’ 

Then she turned to Mirianette, hoping she would 
say something about the note she had carried. But 
Mirianette was gazing out of the window with that 
changeless face, and when she did bring her attention 
back to Violet, it was to change the subject entirely. 
“I can’t find he’ !” 

“Can’t find whom, Mirianette?” 

“Vevine. I’ve stayed late to look fo’ he’, an’ ole 
Fabette doan know whe’ she is. She hain’ seed he’, 
but I know she come from Grande Anse to Morne 
Rouge yesterday, an’ she was cornin’ on to St. Pierre 
ea’ly dis mo’nin’.” 

Joan, who was just re-entering, said sharply, 
“What’s dat?” 

One slow glance from Mirianette’s sad eyes was the 
only answer this question elicited. Then Mirianette 
went on talking to Violet. “If I could fin’ he’, I was 
gwine to give Vevine an’ — ” 

“Bebine! Dat’s who yo’s axin’ ’bout,” interrupted 
Joan. “De gal dat use to lib at ole Fabette’s? I done 
seen he’ myse’f dis mo’nin’ !” 

“Whe’ you seen he’?” There was just a suspicion 
of eagerness in Mirianette’s voice, but her face was ex- 
pressionless still. 

“I done seen he’ on de road eben wid de jardin des 
plantes a talkin’ to de debil. I axes yo’ pa’don, I mean 


JOAN TALKS 


2iy 


a talkin’ to M. Cordot. I tells yo’ dey hain’ much goes 
on dat hab to do with dat scamp o’ creation dat I doan 
see an’ hea’ ! But dis time I couldn’t git dost ’nough 
to hea’ what dey wus sayin’, but dey talked togedder 
a little bit, den M. Cordot he came back to de town, an’ 
Bebine she jes stood a lookin’ afte’ him widout movin’s 
long’s she could see him; den she begun a climbin’ de 
steep road a goin’ to Morne Rouge wid he’ tray on he’ 
head. Po’ little yalle’ gal ! an’ he’ not bery strong yet, 
I guess.” 

Mirianette vouchsafed no reply to the question in 
Joan’s voice, but said slowly and wearily, ‘‘I doan know 
how I missed he’, she must a been at Morne Rouge 
when I come through. But it am too late now to go 
back to Grande Anse to-night. I’s gwine to haf to 
miss my Thursday’s carryin’. I specs I can stay wid 
Fabette, an’ — ” 

Madame Petit’s face, white and drawn, appeared at 
the doorway and she said, ‘‘Joan, where did you get 
that letter ?” 

“Mirianette fotched it,” said Joan with a wave of 
the hand toward the towering form still standing in 
the middle of the room. 

Mirianette turned slowly and said to Madame in her 
monotonous way, “De white gal wid de wavy brown 
hai’ an’ de soft brown eyes, an’ de very purty mouth, 
she give it to me an’ tole me to be sho to give it to 
M. Petit. M. Edwa’d he say she bette’ not send it yet, 
but she say yes, it time to send it, dat dey be at de 
’treats fo’ he git de lette’. Den she write a word mo’ 


2 1 8 THE PROPHET OF MARTIN IQ UE 


an’ send it. Dat was way out on de slope ob de morne.” 

‘‘Here, Joan, see that Mirianette is well paid for her 
trouble.” Then Madame turned to Violet. “Come to 
your room, I wish to speak to you a moment.” 

A short time before Madame had summoned all her 
courage and had gone into* M. Petit’s room to tell him 
the secret that had been sapping her health and spirits 
for months past. She had stopped before him, white 
and trembling, determined to have it over at once. But 
her first faltering sentence was interrupted by Joan 
bringing Edward’s note. 

M. Petit read it and his face grew ashen in its pallor 
and his hands trembled. Then he said, without lift- 
ing his eyes from the paper, “O, Hortense, Hortense ! 
Pve known for months that he was insane, but I 
couldn’t bring myself to admit it. Why didn’t I guard 
him more closely ? And Heloise ! What shall we do, 
Hortense ?” 

Mme. Petit was herself again, a little pale, but 
strong and helpful. She quietly read the note, which 
said: 

“Father: — The awful face above the clouds of Mont 
Pelee has been leering at me again and the demon of 
Mont Pelee is driving me from St. Pierre. I go while 
Dr. LaTerette sleeps. The thunders of Mont Pelee 
will waken him. I go to the first retreat. Follow me, 
father! Follow me, or the demon of Mont Pelee will 
pour his vials of wrath upon your head and your house ! 

“Edward.” 


JOAN TALKS 


219 


Then in Heloise’s tiny scrawl : 

‘T saw Edward coming out for a walk and followed 
him. I may persuade him to come back. If not, I’ll 
go with him. If we don’t return soon, you’d better 
come.” 

‘‘Why Eugene, there is nothing dreadful about that,” 
said Madame, laying her hand soothingly on his 
shoulder. A wonderful calmness had come over 
Madame. ‘‘We’ll follow and will reach the retreat by 
the time it is dark, and — ” 

“But the deadly fer-de-lance ! They say great num- 
bers of them have come down from the mountain 
heights in the last two days. A regular exodus to the 
valleys and mornes. I do not fear them so much on 
the highway. But the retreat is some distance from the 
road. Then I know not what wild fancy might seize 
Edward! We must hasten! But you will not go, 
shall you, Hortense?” 

“Of course I shall go !” said Madame positively. She 
herself did not know how much of this resolution came 
to her from the thought that if she went with him she 
need not see M. Cordot at dusk. The hour was ap- 
proaching! She eagerly argued with herself that M. 
Petit was now in trouble enough, and she must not, 
for his sake, add to it now by divulging her secret. 
“Dr. LaTerette will go with us,” she went on, “and 
you can take Anton. I shall certainly go. Heloise 
will want me. You find Dr. LaTerette and I’ll speak 
to Violet. I’ll be ready in a few minutes. Have the 


220 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


carriage brought out if you like, though I feel quite 
strong enough to walk.” 

‘‘No, we will not walk. We must return in the 
dark and there will be no moon to-night.” 

Then Madame had sought Violet, with the growing 
feeling that she must tell some one her secret. Her 
resolution to tell her husband had been a good one that 
she had strengthened on her knees. She was wavering. 
She must satisfy her conscience by telling some one. 
So when they had gone to Violet’s room and Violet had 
mechanically seated herself, Madame stood before her 
and said in a kind of stony way, going right on to the 
end without stopping, though her voice was hoarse and 
unnatural, “I wanted to tell you that M. Cordot was 
my husband. I thought him dead when I married M. 
Petit. He had gone to America, and I had received 
word of his death, that I never thought of doubting 
until he appeared here to — ruin my life! I’ve been a 
coward and a liar not to tell M. Petit long ago. But 
just now I must not tell him. Edward is in danger. 
He has gone — ” 

“Gone!” Violet echoed in a dazed way, not moving 
or looking at Madame, but just gazing at the little 
patch of . fast fading yellow sunlight that lay on the 
opposite wall, the last sunset ray that was ever to gild 
that room! 

Not a glint of it was left on the wall when Madame 
had explained to Violet what was in Edward’s letter, 
and what they expected to do and had told her of M. 
Cordot’s expected coming at dusk. “You need not 


JOAN TALKS 


221 


see him/' she said ; ‘‘just have the servant tell him I am 
not at home and do not admit him. As soon as Ed- 
ward is safe at home again/' she added hurriedly, des- 
perately, as if her resolve needed the prop of these 
words, “I shall tell M. Petit all." 

Then Madame was gone and Violet knew there was 
a hurried departure for the retreat, and still she sat 
there, looking at the spot on the wall where the dying 
sunlight had been, trying not to think, dreading the 
pain it must bring, as one who has suffered great 
physical pain in a moment of ease dreads to move lest 
it bring a return of the suffering. She sat thus when 
there came to her ears the sweet chimes of bells at the 
angelus hour. Was there a little note of pain in that 
last peal, or was it only the echo in her own heart ? It 
brought back so vividly that other angelus hour when 
she had stood with Edward in the failing light and had 
known that the light of her life's hope was fading thus, 
and had felt that the sweet chimes in her heart were 
changing to jangling “bells out of tune." Then it was 
she had first realized that she must not cherish sweet 
maiden dreams of Edward; that she had given her 
heart's love to a hopeless object because the real Ed- 
ward, the Edward whom she loved, was becoming more 
and more separated from her by that ever thickening 
cloud of insanity. The new troubles and perplexities 
which Madame had been pouring into her ears not only 
added their own weight of pain and anxiety and dread, 
but seemed to double the suffering from the old wound. 
Madame's last word, “I shall tell M. Petit all," still 


222 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


rang in her ears. Oh, must this shadow also fall on 
the already darkened household? Would no kind 
providence intervene ? Must M. Petit, already bowed 
under the weight of an ever-present sorrow, face this 
also ? Must Heloise’s young life be blighted by shame 
and disgrace ? Must the shadow fall even on Edward ? 
— Even on Edward! It all came over her in a great 
sickening surge of pain, with the last note of the chimes, 
and she flung herself on her knees beside her bed and 
buried her face in its folds. “O Father,’’ — Then no 
petition framed itself in words even in her thought ; and 
after a brief time, into which a world of suffering and 
yearning for help were crowded, she murmured, “For 
Jesus’ sake,” and arose. 

Say not that she did not pray. A suffering, bleed- 
ing human heart had been laid bare in the presence of 
the “Man of sorrows.” A weak, trembling human 
hand had taken down the receiver. Tell me not that 
Central did not know who had called. 

When she arose, she noticed that the shades of even- 
ing were deepening, and she was seized with a feverish 
desire to see M. Cordot and delay him. All Joan had 
said about his plan to murder Edward, which gave her 
no anxiety at the time, now came back to her with the 
terror of reality. Alone with the servants while dark- 
ness was fast coming up from the deep, she reached a 
stage of nervous fear which blanched her cheek and 
almost paralyzed her faculties. Her anxiety for her 
friends, out facing the terrors of the southern night, 
and her dread of M. Cordot grew great. And yet 


JOAN TALKS 


223 

through it all was a faint note of comfort and assur- 
ance, gained on her knees. 

She hastily summoned Joan and said, “I shall not 
come to the dining room this evening, Joan. Bring 
me some of that fine fruit that was brought in to-day 
and some tea.’' 

‘‘O, Missy Biolet,” said Joan, whose sympathy was 
enlisted by Violet’s face and voice, “let me bring yo’ 
some dem lobely leetle fish. Dey’s jes scrumptious! 
Or a aig, or some palmiste salad. Cain’t I, honey?” 

“No, Joan, only the fruit and tea.” 

“Nor a bit o’ cake, wid a coolin’ drink ?” 

“No, Joan. Be quick, please.” 

“Yes, Missy Biolet.” 

Noiselessly Joan glided out and as noiselessly glided 
back almost immediately, bearing the tray with the tea 
and fruit. Then while she was busy with the light she 
said, “I seed de gobe’no’ to-day. Missy Biolet.” 

Violet smiled a weary, flickering smile at Joan’s 
evident effort to beguile her from her troubled 
thoughts^; but she was glad of even Joan’s companion- 
ship. “And is the governor a wonderful looking man, 
Joan ?” . 

“La now, honey, would yo’ bliebe it? He jes look 
mighty like de common run ob Frenchmen, an’ doan 
begin to come up to Edwa’d, no’ M. Petit, neide’.” 

“Well, it was very kind of him to come, for some of 
the people were frightened about Mont Pelee.” 

“La, bress yo’ hea’t, chile, dey’s heaps ob ’em mighty 
skeered yet. Some de men, yo’ know, done sent deir 


224 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


women folkses away. But de sigh-an-tipsy committee 
what de gobe’no’ sent up to obscibe' about Mont Pelee, 
dey say dey hain’ a speck o’ dange’. But how anybody 
gwine to sot any store by what a sigh-an-tipsy commit- 
tee say, is mo’n I can tell, dat’s sa’tain sho !” 

“But the scientific committee understands things that 
you and I don’t know anything about.” 

“Mebbe, mebbe, but I’s a little juberous ’bout deir 
un’stan’in’ what old Pelee gwine to do.” 

“Now, light the little lamps in the niches in the court, 
Joan, and if M. Cordot comes, tell him Pll see him 
there.” Violet felt she could not bear the close con- 
fines of a room while she talked with him. 

“Why fu’ yo’ gwine to see dat mean man at all. 
Missy Biolet? Yo’ jes leabe him to me,” with a sig- 
nificant glance at her deviless garb, which she had 
donned after her conversation with Violet. “I tell yo’ 
I hab mo’ to tell dat I hea’d dis mo’nin’.” 

With a little wave of the hand, half weary, half im- 
perious, and in a tone that suited the gesture, Violet 
said, “Tell me no more now, Joan, but go and do as I 
say.” 

“Yes, Missy Biolet,” and Joan disappeared. 


CHAPTER XIX 


HIS LAST CARD 

A FEW minutes later, when Violet entered the 
Court, she started in surprise. In company with 
Joan was a tall form in priestly robes. But Joan 
answered her look of astonishment with a peal of 
laughter that jarred on Violet’s overwrought nerves. 
“La honey,” she said, “dis am jes Mirianette in ca’nibal 
dress.” 

“Why do you and Mirianette wish to have carnival 
this evening, Joan?” 

“Dat’s jes it!” and Joan broke into another merry 
laugh, that met no more response from Mirianette than 
if she had been a statue, as she looked. “We’s gwine 
to hab high ca’nibal, de debiless an’ de priest, we is. 
Yo’ ax M.' Cordot in de mo’nin’ ef he got de money. 
Ye’, we’s got de ca’nibal all deranged, sa’tain sho!” 

Violet sank into a chair to await, with ever grow- 
ing dread, the coming of M. Cordot. It was a hot, 
breathless evening. The quick darkness of a moon- 
less night filled the beautiful grounds, besieged the 
great house that seemed to Violet so empty now, and 
invaded the corners of the inclosure where she sat. 
The stillness was oppressive. Strangely silent were 
the night insects, whose clanging, hammering notes 
225 


226 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


usually poured from the morne over the town at this 
hour, filling the most secluded spot with a torrent of 
sound. Suddenly through the stillness there came to 
their ears the weird, mournful call of some night bird. 
“De diablotin! de bi’d ob ill omen!’' said Joan in an 
awed whisper. 

Usually, few people were less troubled with super- 
stitious notions than Violet. But now in her over- 
wrought state the gruesome sound, which she could 
not remember having ever heard before, and that term, 
*^diablotin” bird of ill omen, struck a chill to her heart. 
Again, twice, thrice, the note was repeated 1 And then 
the oppressive stillness, so oppressive that she almost 
wished the sound had not ceased. 

Violet had waited but a few minutes when M. Cordot 
appeared, but so fraught was every moment of that 
time with nervous dread, that it seemed to her the even- 
ing was far advanced. She had tried to brace herself 
for this interview; but such a distrust of herself and 
fear of this man’s influence came over her, as he ad- 
vanced and asked for Madame Petit, that she wished 
she had not decided to see him. Then a greater terror 
of any possible harm to Edward compelled her to at- 
tempt a conversation with him. But she found after 
all she could not say what would detain him, but must 
say what might drive him away. Her great dread of 
him made it impossible for her to prolong the conver- 
sation. She was beside herself with that strange fear ; 
so, in reply to his inquiry, she said, ‘‘Mme. Petit is not 
at home, and would not see you if she were.” 


HIS LAST CARD 


227 


“Indeed! would she not?” he replied slowly and im- 
pressively, while his upper teeth were laid bare in that 
peculiar smile. “I am inclined to think that Madame 
Petit not only would, but will see me.” 

“No, you can never see her again! You can come 
to this house no more.” She tried to say this with her 
usual calm and quiet, but her white lips would tremble, 
and it was with almost a superhuman effort that she 
held her head high and forced herself to look into that 
sinister face. 

“Indeed !” returned M. Cordot, with his lowest bow 
and his highest smile. “What strange turn of for- 
tune's wheel has in a moment given you the power to 
control Madame Petit's actions, and to forbid me this 
house?” Into the stress on that little pronoun, he 
threw all the cruelty of his peculiar power in that house. 

“Just this,” replied Violet, trying to be threatening, 
but her eyes were strangely bright, her voice was shrill 
with terror, and her words tumbled out in almost in- 
coherent rapidity, so hard was she struggling now to 
drive him away from her presence. “Your conversa- 
tion with M. Gounod was overheard. And I know all 
your secrets and your criminal plans! I shall tell M. 
and Mme. Petit when they return ! The best thing you 
can do is to leave St. Pierre at once or you will be 
exposed! I shall report you to the authorities im- 
mediately !” 

Her poor, trembling venture had struck the right 
chord. M. Cordot was frightened. He feared she 
knew more than she did. There had been things in M. 


228 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


Cordot Durand’s life that would not bear the light 
These had all been spoken of in that conversation with 
M. Gounod. He had not the remotest idea how Violet 
knew anything of this conversation, but know some- 
thing of it she certainly did. M. Cordot had no desire 
to have his past record dragged out before M. Petit, 
or any other honest man. Nor had he any relish for 
having the authorities on his track. There were au- 
thorities in another land that would be glad enough to 
be on his track. As for M. and Mme. Petit not being 
at home, he didn’t believe it. That was a subterfuge; 
and behind Violet’s trepidation, he thought he saw a 
determination to prevent his seeing Mme. Petit. And 
Violet certainly knew something. How much did she 
know? 

“Does anyone else know this?” he said. 

“No,” she replied, thinking of all she had heard that 
afternoon from Madame on the one hand, and from 
Joan on the other, “no one else knows all that I know.” 

“Does M. Petit—” 

“No,” she hastily interrupted, “M. Petit knows 
nothing about it. But I shall tell him.” 

M. Cordot breathed a little sigh of relief. If M. 
Petit knew nothing, he could manage Madame. He 
must not be prevented from seeing her. And he had 
no time to lose; he wished to leave St. Pierre to- 
morrow. His resolution was quickly taken. The girl 
must be prevented from speaking to either Mme. or M. 
Petit, until he was safely out of St. Pierre, and safely 
out of Martinique. He could think of but one way. 


229 


HIS LAST CARD 

His conscience hurt him a little, he told himself, to 
employ that means, but he must ; which only meant that 
he was a little afraid of the means he had decided upon, 
but would run the risk, “Miss Allison,” he said 
slowly and humbly, “I have not been a good man ; but 
I would not have you think me altogether bad. I beg 
of you not to report me. Give me a chance, and I will 
leave St. Pierre at once.” 

“Yes, go!” she said hastily and eagerly. “Go, and 
I will keep your secret.” 

Still speaking slowly and earnestly and looking 
straight into Violet’s face, he said, “I thank you for 
that promise. Your kindness shall not be in vain. 
You give me a chance to begin life again. I shall 
become a new man. I give you my hand, in token 
that I shall leave my wicked ways and be a better 
man.” 

When he offered his hand to Violet, a hunted look 
came into her great, frightened eyes, and she clasped 
her hands tightly behind her; but as Louis Cordot 
stood there with exteilded hand, looking into her eyes 
with that fixed, compelling gaze, and repeating slowly 
in a chanting monotone, “In token that I will be a bet- 
ter man,” slowly, as if with great effort, her hand 
moved forward until it rested in his, and then — the 
thing was done. The vacant look came into her eyes 
that indicated the surrender of her own will. Retain- 
ing her hand, he said, no longer slowly, but quickly and 
positively, “Your father wishes to see you. He cannot 


230 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

leave his ship very far. He sent for you to meet him 
at a friend’s house down near the wharf.” 

‘'Yes, my father,” said Violet, in a drawling, ex- 
pressionless way, “yes, I must see him. I must go at 
once. My father, good Captain John.” 

Then with that fiendish smile of triumph, which was 
no stranger to M. Cordot’s face, he took Violet’s hand 
in his arm and led her unresistingly down the avenue 
of stately palms to the street, on to the cross street, and 
down it toward the sea. On through the dark, steep 
street they passed, down, down by stone steps worn by 
the footsteps of many years, on, until they came to a 
great dark house to which Joan had followed M. 
Cordot that morning. 

Stopping before this house, M.' Cordot gave a 
peculiar whistle, like a shrill note of a night bird. The 
massive door swung open, and M. Gounod’s form ap- 
peared in the doorway. “You, Louis?” he said in a 
low tone. “Have you brought the money ?” 

“No,” said Louis Cordot hastily, “I have brought 
Miss Allison to — ” 

“The deuce you — ” began M. Gounod, but at the 
sign from the other, stopped short. 

“To meet her father,” went on M. Cordot; “you 
know he said he’d be here soon,” giving the other a 
meaning glance. 

“Yes, yes,” said M. Gounod hastily, only partially 
taking in the situation, “he’ll be here soon. Bring her 
in.” And the great dark door swung to with a bang, 
shutting in the three. 


HIS LAST CARD 


231 


They passed through a dark entry into a large, low, 
dingy, dimly lighted room, in which were a table and 
two stiff, heavy chairs. When Violet was seated in 
one of these, M. Cordot at the other side of the room, 
said in a low tone to M. Gounod, though he did not 
once take his eyes off Violet’s face, ‘^By — , I hope 
you’re grateful. It’s done! And you’ve got the girl. 
But I tell you, man, it hurt my conscience.” A mock- 
ing laugh in response to this was checked by M. Cordot. 
“Silence, fool I You’ll startle the girl. Of course, you 
understand her father has no appointment with her. 
And if one should try to claim her, why,”' with an 
oath, “just hold the fort. I’ll put the authorities on 
your side. Fenlon has this beat ; I’ll speak to him. He’s 
all right. I’ve caged your bird; you can do the rest. 
This scores me even, doesn’t it?” 

“More than even, old man; I’m your debtor. Call 
on me any day.” 

“All right ; I’m gone.” 

Gounod followed him to the door, and handing him 
a key, said, “Here’s an. extra key to the side entrance. 
Come in that way if you have any report on the money, 
or if you want anything.” 

“All right. Remember, this girl is entrusted to your 
care by her friends. That’s what I shall tell Fenlon.” 

When M. Gounod had closed and bolted the door, 
he returned and stood across from Violet, with one 
hand resting on the table, and gazed admiringly and in- 
solently into her face. 

Gradually, under that gaze, and in the absence of M. 


232 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


Cordot, the blank look left her face, and there came a 
look of comprehension ; the far-away gaze left her eyes, 
and there came in its place a look of surprise and terror. 
For what seemed to her hours, they gazed at each other 
thus in slience, and her terror increased with every sec- 
ond. At length, in a strained, hoarse voice, she said, 
half inquiringly, half defiantly, ‘‘My father will be 
here soon ?” 

“Well now, my beauty,” he said slowly and impres- 
sively, “you’d just as well know the truth. Your 
father isn’t coming. That was only a make-believe, 
that was a part of the play, you know. In other words, 
my dear, kind friend lied to you. I know nothing 
about your father, my dear, but I know you are not 
likely to see him here. No, you are under my pro- 
tection now, and you’d just as well make yourself at 
home.” 

During this speceh Violet felt herself grow cold, even 
to her lips. Her heart gave a great throb and then 
seemed to stop beating. There was a muffled roaring 
in her ears, through which these cruel words came to 
her distinctly, though from afar. The room rocked, 
the dim light grew dimmer, the hated, terrible form 
before her grew to gigantic proportions. There seemed 
to be no air to breathe. She was suffocating. What if 
she should lose consciousness in this place ! She closed 
her eyes for an instant ; the momentary faintness passed, 
and with the opening of her eyes came the most acute 
sense of her helpless condition, the .full realization of 
her surroundings to the smallest detail. She looked 


HIS LAST CARD 


233 


hastily around her with some wild thought of escape, 
but the massive walls, the small, high windows frowned 
at her, and that dreadful man stood between her and 
the door leading into the entry; besides she remem- 
bered, as in a dream, the secure bolting of the heavy 
outer door. Her eyes came back for a moment to the 
dark, sinister face of the man opposite, and she thought 
she read there the utter, futility of an appeal to him. 
But just then he said rather sullenly, ‘‘Well now, my 
dear, you needn’t take it so infernal hard ; I’m not quite 
a beast !” 

A faint hope stirred in her. “Are you a man? Dare 
I appeal to your manhood, your honor ?” The face she 
raised to his was such a picture of frightened, helpless 
innocence as must have reached any less hardened 
wretch ; but he only saw the beauty of the great violet 
eyes. 

“A man? Yes,” with a coarse laugh, “I’m not a 
woman. But as for — ” He stopped for she suddenly 
dropped on her knees and clasped her hands in the at- 
titude of pleading. “Well now, my dear, you 
needn’t — ” he began, stepping toward her as if to lift 
her up ; but he suddenly stopped both speech and move- 
ment, for her voice rang out pleadingly, and yet con- 
fidently, and she was not addressing him. 

“O God, defense of the defenseless, my refuge and 
my strength, an ever present help in trouble. Thou wilt 
guard me ! I am alone and in great trouble ; O Lord, 
hide me in Thy pavilion; in the secret of Thy taber- 
nacle, hide me! The angel of the Lord encampeth 


234 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

round about them that fear Him and delivereth them. 
Send Thy angel, O Lord. Give me help in trouble, 
for vain is the help of man !’* Then the voice of sup- 
plication changed to one almost of triumph. “My help 
cometh from the Lord. The Lord shall preserve me 
from all evil.’' 

Violet rose from her knees with the look of terror 
replaced by one of trust and calm resolve. M. Gounod 
stood speechless with astonishment, and a feeling akin 
to awe. As he stood thus, a slight sound from behind 
him attracted his attention, and turning, he saw two 
forms standing in the gloom of the entry. 

“Who are you?” he demanded in sharp tones of 
fear. 

And a deep, powerful voice answered, “Tm the 
angel of the Lord, come in answer to the prayer of 
the helpless.” 


CHAPTER XX 


JOAN ACTS 

M IRIANETTE and Joan, from the shadow of 
the palms, where they had been unobserved 
by M. Cordot during his conversation with 
Violet, saw him lead her away, while that fiendish 
smile took possession of his face in a way that made 
him hideous to look upon, and for a moment paralyzed 
Joan’s brain and tongue, as well as her limbs. 

Mirianette was the first to speak. “Joan,” she said, 
in her slow, solemn, perfectly unmoved way, “yo’ be- 
lieve dat man’s de debil?” 

“’Deed I doan!” said Joan positively, regaining 
the use of her limbs as well as her tongue, as evidenced 
by her seizing Mirianette’s arm and starting rapidly in 
pursuit. “ ’Deed I doan ! De Debil am mighty mean, 
I reckon; but he wouldn’t stDop to sich low-down, 
dirty meanness as dat onfe’nal ramscallion Cordot 
grins obe’. Lan’ sakes alibe, honey, no! De Debil 
hain’ a patchin’ to dat man ; he’d be ’shamed to be seen 
in his company. But nebe’ yo’ min’, Mi’nette, ef he 
am de debil or ef he am man, de debiless an’ de 
priest dey am gwine to be enough fo’ him ; wid de 
help ob de Zombi stick, dey’s gwine to fix ’im I” And 
displaying a long, slender stick, pointed at the end, 
235 


236 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

which she held in her hand, she chuckled in spite of 
her indignation. ‘‘Dey’s jes two tings in dis wo’ld, 
or any ode’ wo’ld dat dat oncibilized Cordot am feered 
on, an’ dats de fe’-de-lance an’ me.” 

‘‘You?” said Mirianette, with a shade of inquiry in 
her voice. 

“Yes, me! an’ yo’ jes wait till dem two, de fe’-de- 
lance an’ me, jine again him, an’ den dey’s gwine to 
be need ob de priest,” chuckling again. “Pow’fu’ need 
ob de priest.” 

Joan instinctively turned the right way when they 
reached the street, and their long swift strides soon 
brought them in sight of M. Cordot and Violet. Noise- 
lessly at some distance they followed, until they saw 
them disappear in the great, dark house; then they 
concealed themselves at either side of the doorway, ex- 
pecting M. Cordot’s return. 

“Why you think he come back, Joan?” whispered 
Mirianette. 

“Oh, he am gwine to come back, sa’tain sho!” said 
Joan decidedly. “Dey am ode’ business he tink he am 
gwine to tend to yet dis night; but he am gwine to 
find hisse’f pow’fu’ ’staken, pow’fu’ ’staken!” • And 
Joan smothered a chuckle as the door opened and M. 
Cordot himself stopped on the threshold. 

They heard the last words of the two men and saw 
Cordot take the key. And when he was a few steps 
from the house, they glided out from the shadow and 
began to follow with swift and noiseless tread. They 
could only catch a word now and then of the con- 


JOAN ACTS 


237 


versation between him and Fenlon at the next cor- 
ner, but they saw him slip some money into Fenlon’s 
hand, and knew that bribery had been added to per- 
suasion, to make this officer of the law faithful to his 
duties. Then M. Cordot moved on, and after a whis- 
pered conversation between the two women, Mirian- 
ette fell behind and Joan followed closely. They had 
scarcely gone three blocks when Joan sprang forward 
with a scream. ‘‘Oh, de fe’-de-lance ! De fe’-de-lance ! 
Stop, man, stop! Heabens! It hab done struck him, 
it hab done bit him!” Joan gave a few vigorous whacks 
on the sidewalk with her stick, and then with the same 
stick flung out into the street something which dropped 
with a soft, dull thud, and all the while she talked 
volubly and excitedly. “O M’sieu’, M’sieuM It hab 
done finish you sa’tain sho! Da! I done finish him! 
He not bite no mo’. Sakes alibe M’sieu’, what we 
gwine to do? We’e ken I take yo’ to? Oh dea’, de 
docto’! De priest! How we gwine to git dem? O 
M’sieu’, ef it struck a bein’ dey’s no chance! Ole 
Fabette’s is jes roun’ de co’ne’. I’ll done tuck yo’ da !” 

The keen pain in the wounded ankle was nothing 
compared with M. Cordot’s fright. His voice was 
hoarse as he said, “A doctor, woman, a doctor, at 
once !” 

“Yes, yes,” said Joan. “Hea’ we am at Fabette’s. 
Hea’, lay down on dis couch. Da! Yes, le’s take dis 
off, an’ yo’ shoe. Lan’ sakes, how swelled dat foot 
am !” 

“A doctor, woman!” said M. Cordot again. His 


238 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

face was pale and great beads of perspiration stood 
out on his brow. 

'‘An’ de priest,” added Joan sternly. "Deys sins 
what a man mus’ ’fess afo’ he die.” 

A spasm of pain crossed the pale face, and he said, 
"Yes, and a priest. I have something I must tell.” 

"Dat’s right. I’ll be back wid a docto’ an’ a priest 
in a jiffy, an’ Fabette am gwine to make a poultice fo’ 
yo’ foot.” With that Joan hurried out, joined Mirian- 
ette, who was not far away, and said, "Come quick. 
I’s got de key, an — ” 

"How you get dat key?” interrupted Mirianette, in 
a tone betraying a shade of wonder. 

Joan chuckled. "I jes done picked dat po’ man’s 
pocket, while I ’us a he’pin’ him. I’s done got it any- 
how, an’ we’s gwine jes to walk in dat house, an’ 
sabe dat leetle gal. Den we’s gwine back so’s de priest 
can take dat man’s dyin’ ’fession.” Joan concluded 
this solemn announcement with something strangely 
like a chuckle, which ended in a little scream, for as 
she hurried round a corner at full speed, she ran plump 
into the arms of a man. 

"Je — rusalem, woman! haul in your sails, and veer 
a little to leeward. You ought to steer your craft 
more cautiously in the dark.” 

"Cap’n John!” said Joan joyfully, "Dis am a god- 
send.” 

"Ah, it is you, Joan! I was just going up to the 
house to see the little girl and take her this,” patting 


JOAN ACTS 


239 

the package he had under his arm, “but I was a little 
late getting unloaded. Will she be in bed?’’ 

“Yo’ won’ fin’ he’ at home,” said Joan. “Dat Cor- 
dot hab ben at his outlan’ish debiltry agin, an’ — ” 

Here Captain John interrupted with a fierce volley 
of oaths, a whole arsenal of which had exploded by the 
time Joan had explained to him the situation. 

“Where is that infernal — ” began Captain John, but 
Joan interrupted him. 

“Yo’ jes leabe him to me. De po’ man am around 
at ole Fabette’s, put nigh dead f’om de bite ob de fe’- 
de-lance !” Again Joan’s most solemn statement ended 
with a smothered chuckle. “Hea’ am de key, an’ dat 
sho’t man pacin’ back an’ fo’th befo’ de do’ am Fen- 
Ion.” 

“I’ll have the little girl in three shakes,” said Cap- 
tain John. “Guess this’ll do for a wrap,” again tap- 
ping the package. “Want to come along Joan, and the 
other one, to see the fun?” 

“No,” said Joan, “bleeged, but we’s got fun ob ou’ 
own. We’s got to go back to ou’ deaf bed ’fession.” 
This time the chuckle would not be suppressed. 

A moment later Fenlon was completely taken by 
surprise to hear a gruff voice saying, “Here Fenlon, 
show me the side entrance of this prison, and go in 
with me and help rescue the girl that’s confined there.” 

“This is not a prison,” said Fenlon, stepping back 
a pace, “but a private dwelling, and it is my business 
to guard it and prevent your entrance.” 

Captain John inflated his powerful chest, and emit- 


240 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


ted a hurricane laden with these words, ‘‘You'd as 
well try to prevent the tide from coming in ! I’m go- 
ing into that house, and you’re going with me !” 

“I’m an officer of the law and must defend — ” 

“No you don’t!” said Captain John , as Fenlon 
reached for his weapon; and he seized both his hands 
in a grip of iron. Then holding them with one power- 
ful hand, with the other he grasped Fenlon’s clothes 
in the back and lifting him sheer off his feet, shook 
him as a bull-dog shakes a terrier. Setting him on 
his feet again, but still holding his hands as in a vise, 
he said fiercely, “There! you black villain! Have you 
changed you mind about the duties of an officer of the 
law? Are you ready to go in with me?” 

“Yes,” said Fenlon sullenly, “but you needn’t carry 
me. I can walk.” 

Easily entering by means of the key, and groping 
their way through the dark entry to the dim light 
streaming from the room in which Violet and M. 
Gounod were, they reached the door just in time to 
see Violet drop on her knees, and her prayer arrested 
them, as it had M. Gounod. Then came Captain John’s 
announcement in answer to M. Gounod’s question, that 
he was the angel of the Lord. 

A very substantial angel he looked as he stepped 
into the room, pushing Fenlon before him. “No, you 
sneak, you don’t get behind me. Stand there!” plac- 
ing him near Gounod. Then waving Violet back, 
(for she had stepped toward him with a glad cry) he 
fixed his keen, unflinching gaze on the two men directly 


JOAN ACTS 241 

before him, and said, came for this girl, and if you 
want to — ’’ ^ 

Fenlon, fortified by Gounod’s presence and whispered 
suggestions, here interrupted, ^‘Stranger, you can’t 
take that girl. It is my duty to defend her, and if you 
don’t want to be arrested you’d — ” 

‘‘Shut up!” roared Captain John. “I was speak- 
ing!” Little Fenlon’s momentary bravery vanished 
and he made no effort to check Captain John as he 
went on. “Gentlemen,” Captain John towered to his 
full six feet-one of height; his great chest expanded, 
his keen gray eyes gleamed, and his words came like a 
thunderous mountain torrent, growing more and more 
fierce as he went on, and at each repetition of the 
word “gentlemen” his eyes shot fiercer fires, and the 
word took on a strange edge of deadly irony. “Gentle- 
men! Let me tell you something! Some years ago 
in Cuba, when Cuba was yet held by Spain, a man 
by the name of Diaz, you may have heard of him, a 
Cuban born, but then an American citizen, was seized 
and thrown into prison. He managed by marvelous 
shrewdness to get off a telegram to the United States. 
Instantly, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, from the 
Great Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico, that great country 
burst forth in one blaze of fierce wrath! And if at 
the next click of the wire Diaz had not been released, 
Spain would have been swept from the face of the 
globe! But he was instantly released. Spain’s petty 
officers in Cuba,” with a withering glance at the petty 
officer before him, “did not dare to withstand for one 


242 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

moment the demand of the United States ! Now, gen- 
tlemen ! let me tell you something else ! I am a citizen 
of the United States. One click of the wire and my 
country knows of your act. One answering click, 
and all the power of the United' States is behind this 
one frail girl ! Finally, gentlemen ! ! ! Let me tell you 
one thing more. I sail these seas under the flag of the 
United States! Under that flag, this girl was born. 
Under that flag, she was made my daughter. Under 
that flag, I demand her release! And by heaven, un- 
der that flag she’ll leave this place, and you will not 
dare to touch her !” As he spoke he tore the paper from 
the parcel he carried ; one dextrous fling, and the silken 
folds of the United States flag fell about Violet’s 
shoulders, and Captain John led her out and down the 
street, not even so much as looking back at the two 
plotters, who stood gazing at each other in a dazed 
sort of way. 

“Well,” said Gounod, finally, “you’re an officer of 
the law. Why didn’t you do something? And not 
let a girl entrusted to your care — ” 

“To your care, you mean,” interrupted the officer. 

“A girl entrusted to our care, be actually kidnapped 
under your very nose.” 

A peculiar little grunt was the officer’s only reply for 
an instant, then he said, “By my soul, man, that was 
Uncle Sam himself in the flesh, come to claim his own ! 
Now, I’m a match for any cursed American, single- 
handed, but I can’t stand against the whole country.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE DEATH-BED CONFESSION 

A S Captain John had some curiosity in regard to 
Joan’s movements, and as he did not wish to 
leave Violet until he could place her in the faith- 
ful mulatto’s care, he went round to old Fabette’s, 
and leaving Violet with that good woman to com- 
fort and coddle her, was ushered into the adjoining 
room where M. Cordot lay on a couch, with his 
wounded, swollen foot resting on a pillow, his face 
drawn with suffering and great drops of perspiration 
standing on his pale brow. Never before had Cap- 
tain John seen a face that expressed so much 
agony and terror. Standing by the couch were 
Joan and a tall form in priestly robes. In the 
darkness of the street. Captain John had not no- 
ticed Joan’s dress, nor did he now understand its sig- 
nificance, but it was so in contrast to her usual bright 
attire that it attracted his attention, and he thought that 
it, with her unusually stern countenance and piercing 
black eyes, made her look like an avenging Nemesis. 
The priest Captain John had never seen before, but 
he thought there surely was and never could be sadder 
eyes or a more solemn face. She stood motionless and 
speechless with her sad eyes fixed unwaveringly on the 
243 


244 the prophet OF MARTINIQUE 

pale face of M. Cordot, while Joan talked and gesticu- 
lated. ‘‘I couldn’ git no white pries’/' she was say- 
ing, “an’ dey ’us need to be in a hurry, M’sieu’.” 

“Then will you leave us for a little time?” said the 
suffering man, wearily. 

“No! am gwine to stay right hea to see dat yo’ 
’f esses all yo’ sins. It won’ do fo’ a po’ sinne’ to go 
into pu’gatory wid un’fessed sins on his soul. Yo’ 
know de docto’ said yo’ hadn’ but a half a hou’ to libe. 
So yo’s got to begin pow’fu’ soon ef yo’ gits all yo’ 
sinfu’ doin’s ’fessed in time.” 

M. Cordot’s eyes for the first time rested on Cap- 
tain John. “You here?” he said in surprise and ter- 
ror. 

“Yes. Never mind me,” said Captain John pity- 
ingly, “I forgive you. There seems to be a greater than 
I calling you.” 

“Then leave me,” pleaded the sick man weakly, 
“while I—” 

“Very well,” replied Captain John, “if there is any- 
thing you would not wish me to hear, of course, I 
will not intrude. I shall be in the next room,” to Joan, 
“if you should need me.” 

When he was in the next room, however, Joan’s 
voice still reached him, stern and commanding, “Now 
yo’s gwine to begin wid dat leetle business obe’ in 
France dat made yo’ leabe dat country in a mighty 
hurry one night. Oh, yo’ sees I knows all ’bout yo’ 
meannesses f’um yo’ cradle to yo’ grabe!” with a tor- 
turing stress on the last word. 


THE DEATH -BED CONFESSION 245 

Captain John could just hear above old Fabette’s 
voice, as she talked to Violet, the low murmur of M. 
Cordot’s voice for a time, but could not understand 
anything he said ; then the voice of Joan uttering these 
strange words, ‘‘Now yo’ am jes gwine to tell ’bout 
yo’ own grabe way off da in heathen ’Merica wid yo’ 
own name, Louis Cordot, on de tombstone. Out wid 
it ! De debiless she know all ’bout it an’,” with terrible 
threatening solemnity, “de debil he knows all ’bout it, 
too !” Again the murmur of the man’s voice and then 
Joan said, “Now jes yo’ write dat so’s somebody we 
knows can see it afte’ yo’s dead.” Captain John began 
to feel a profound wonder at Joan’s heartlessness. 
Presently her voice went on, “Now ’bout Bebine an’ de 
money, an’ ’bout yo’ debilish plans fo’ dis night.” 

After another period in which the man’s voice could 
be heard, growing weaker. Captain John thought, 
Joan’s face with a stupendous solemnity upon it ap- 
peared at the door and she beckoned Captain John to 
come in. Then, towering over the dying man she said, 
“Now, M’sieu’ Co’dot yo’ an’ me’s had ou’ fight, an’ dis 
night see it fit out, an’ yo’s whipped. Now afo’ I leabes 
yo’ I jes want to tell yo’ tree tings. Fust, dat docto’ 
dat I brung yo’ he am my cousin, an’ he said jes zackly 
what I tole him to say, dat yo’ hadn’ but a half hou’ 
to libe. Second, dis pries’, dat hain’ nebe said one wo’d 
sense she come into dis room — But Ian’ sakes alibe, yo’ 
’us too skeered to notice dat! — dis pries’ hain’ no mo’ 
pries’ dan I is. Jes a woman dressed in ca’nibal pries’ 
clothes. Last, behol’ wid yo’ own two eyes, ef yo’ 


246 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


hain* too skeered to see, behol’ de bery ’dentical fe’-de- 
lance dat bit yoM'’ And Joan stepped to a corner of 
the room and produced her Zombi stick. “An’ de fe’- 
de-lance dat I killed so pow’fu’ bold an’ slung out in 
de street wid a plump, ’us jes some good sized banana 
skins.” Monsieur looked at his swollen foot doubtfully, 
but Joan went on, “Now dis Zombi stick hain’ gwine 
to kill nobody, it jes hu’ts a leetle an’ makes de foot 
swell like ebe’ting. But ’pon my soul, I did tink once 
yo’ ’us gwine to die, jes nachully skeered to deaf!” 
Here Joan’s long imposed gravity gave way with an 
explosion and her laugh rang out through the small 
house, through the quiet street, and it is thought was 
heard by sailors aboard the ships in the harbor, though 
that has never been fully established. 

A cloud of terrible passion came over M. Cordot’s 
face and he made a motion as if, in spite of his wounded 
foot, he would spring at Joan’s throat, as he yelled, 
“Give me that paper, you — I” 

“Not so fast, not so fast,” said Captain John, slowly 
and quietly. “I am here and you will have respect for 
the cloth,” with a wave of his hand toward Mirian- 
ette. 

M. Cordot sank back on his couch and Joan said, 
“De pape’i Well, I guess not! De debiless gwine 
to hab the ’fession on pape’; de pries’ done hab de 
’fession by wo’d o’ mouf !” Joan broke into a peal of 
mocking laughter again in the midst of which she said, 
“Oh, but de debiless an’ pries’ done had one ca’nibal 
to-night to ’member! Guess yo’s gwine to ’member 


THE DEATH-BED CONFESSION 247 

it, too, M’sieu', to yo’ dyin’ day — which hain' to-day !*’ 
M. Cordot growled out in sullen tones, glaring at 
Joan, ‘‘ril have you arrested for assault, you she dev — ” 
“Stop!” said Captain John fiercely. “Remember 
you’re addressing a — ” 

“Debiless,” put in Joan with another laugh, then 
turning to Cordot and speaking argumentatively, but 
showing her teeth in a tantalizing smile, “when it come 
to ’restin’ folks, I reckon M’sieu’ be de fust to be 
’rested.” Again terror took possession of M. Cordot’s 
face as he looked from Joan to Captain John and back 
again to Joan. “Say, M’sieu’, de debiless am gwine 
to gib yo’ one mo’ chance!” Joan spoke each word 
impressively and emphasized each with her front finger 
pointing at M. Cordot’s face. “Ef yo’ leabes St. 
Pierre jes as quick as yo’ can git off in de mo’nin’, de 
debiless won’ push yo' off de cliff! But I tells yo’,” and 
all her terrible solemnity returned to face and tone, 
“I tells yo’ one dese days de debil won’ be so full o’ 
me’cy.” Again Joan’s laugh wakened the echoes in the 
silent street. 

But the priest who had stood ‘perfectly immovable 
during the whole conversation, whose solemn face had 
never changed expression in the least, and whose sad 
eyes had never left M. Cordot’s face for an instant, 
said in tones as solemn as the face, “Amen an’ amen 1 ” 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE FATAL MORNING 

A urora, rosy and smiling, rode in fearlessly on 
the morning of May eighth, nineteen hundred 
and two ; rode in noiselessly on the restless bil- 
lows of the eastern sea, strewing amethysts and pearls 
on the slopes of the dancing waves, and diamonds on 
their crests; came with a burst of glory to the Grand 
Anse coast, kissed the church steeple of Grande Anse, 
making it more than ever the one bright spot in the 
little gray village ; then, in an instant, flooded with the 
radiance of her full smile the village, the whole coast 
and the slopes of the mornes, billowing away to grim 
old Mont Pelee. Under this smile, the line of foam, 
edging the mad surf, gleamed brilliant white, and the 
myriad steely sparkles came out in the black sand. Un- 
der this smile, the crosses stood out snow-white on 
the hill slopes, and even the little dingy village smiled 
gaily as it nestled with a feeling of security in its val- 
ley between the two ridges, under the eyes of the sleep- 
ing sentinel, Pelee, with the eternal music of the never 
silent surf to lull it to rest. Under this smile, all the 
marvelous coloring of the landscape came out; all the 
beautiful blending of green and yellow, of bronze and 
purple, of blue and gray, on valley and morne, in a 
248 


THE FATAL MORNING 


249 


thousand tints and shades. This smile lighted on the 
bare-footed, light-hearted, heavy-laden carrier-girls, al- 
ready on their way from Grand Anse to far St. Pierre, 
singing as they go. But as they go, they will wonder 
why the birds are so silent, and will marvel to find 
only a dry and empty bed where always before the 
crystal waters of a tiny mountain stream had leaped 
and sparkled over its rocks and laughed at them as they 
passed by ; and one of them will point to a great white 
column rising from Mont Pelee; but they will press 
right on until the awful thunder crash of Mont Pelee’s 
mighty artillery breaks upon their ears and then — !! 
But now Aurora gives them a share in her first, fresh 
smile, and whispers no word of warning. 

Slowly the morn came at St. Pierre, with no such 
burst of glory as on the opposite coast. For Aurora, 
as ever, would not deign to look down the steep, 
steep slopes of the mountainous crest, but cast her gaze 
far out to sea, and from there gradually brought it in 
to shore, first gilding the spars of the ships in the 
harbor, the tops of the stateliest palms, and the towers 
of the cathedral, then finally resting her gaze upon 
the bright-hued, quaint old city of St. Pierre, a fair 
gem in its gorgeous setting of tropical landscape. And 
as she gazed the face of Aurora grew pale! So that 
the light that fell on St. Pierre that morning was 
like the light of the northern day rather than the 
southern. 

The people of St. Pierre are already astir. The 
market place is alive ; soon the Rue Victor Hugo will 


250 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


be thronged; the carrier-girls are already coming in 
from the near points; the venders are crying in the 
streets and market place; the laborers are beginning 
work at the sugar landing; dusky forms are hurrying 
to and fro, and everywhere is heard the soft patter of 
bare feet on the pavement. In the Place Bertin, be- 
side the beautiful bronze fountain, two waifs are at 
play, too young to know, here, in this sunny land, that 
life is hard for the very poor. In that house where 
the city’s honored guests have passed the night, the 
bright turbaned maid, Lizette, with her tray on her 
head, glides with noiseless tread into the room to 
serve Governor Mouttet and his family to their break- 
fast of coffee and fruit, — and such fruit! The finest 
to be found in that land of wonderful fruit, — for they 
must have breakfast early; they return this morning 
to Fort De France. The ship must be already in the 
harbor. As Lizette serves them, she casts shy, won- 
dering glances at them from her soft dark eyes, try- 
ing to imagine how it would feel to be so grand. In 
that great, cool house, buried in greenery, on the beau- 
tiful avenue, far up the slope, a fair maiden welcomes 
the new day with rapture, for this is her wedding 
morn, and she looks with the confidence of youth into 
her rosy future. But two squares down the avenue, 
in the house where the vines are running riot in a per- 
fect luxuriance of red and white bloom, and running 
up to the veranda on the second story where the awn- 
ing is spread, and sending a tendril in very bravado 
across the breast and over the shoulder of the beautiful 


THE FATAL MORNING 


251 


bust of Napoleon that stands on its pedestal at the 
corner of the veranda, — here the mother sits and 
rocks her babe and croons a little song, looking into 
the future and building fair castles as she pictures the 
life of her son, who will grow into a good and great 
man. In the House over on the next street, a wife sits 
in grief, and friends tread softly, and look at her with 
pitying eyes, and whisper to each other that she is so 
young, and life will be hard for her; but she is think- 
ing of the open grave in the cemetery ready to receive 
her all, and the years stretch out in blank misery be- 
fore her. Not far away, in the plain house with the lit- 
tle dormer windows, a new-born babe is opening its 
eyes on this fair world. In the little house on the 
Rue Long Champs, the pale, worn mother hangs over 
the couch of her youngest, her little Mignonette, and 
her eyes wander to the clock. ‘‘Will the doctor never 
come? It is almost eight o’clock.’' Every moment is 
precious. 

Hark! What is that tremendous, awful roar and 
crash ? What that terrible, black, swift-moving, flame- 
riven cloud? “Mont Pelee, Mont Pelee!” Now busi- 
ness has stopped in the Rue Victor Hugo and the 
market place, and the work has stopped at the sugar 
landing. The carrier-girls have no more hard roads 
to travel, no more heavy burdens to carry. Now the 
Governor’s family and the maid, Lizette, are on the 
same footing. The two waifs playing beside the bronze 
fountain will never know the stings of poverty; the 
proud mother’s dreams for her son will never be 


252 THE PROPHET OF MARTIN IQ UE 

realized. The fair bride in the great house will never 
lay off her bridal robes ; the open grave in the cemetery 
will never receive its dead; the young widow’s heart 
will never more ache with grief ; and the sick child has 
no need of a physician. For St. Pierre has no future, 
but only the present moment of confusion, blanched 
faces, hurrying throngs, unspeakable terror ! One 
wailing prayer from a thousand lips ! Horror, despair, 
woe incomparable ! 

Then Aurora hid her face, and there descended upon 
that fair city and its thirty thousand panic-stricken 
inhabitants, dense darkness and an awful silence, the 
rayless darkness, the eternal silence! And St. Pierre 
was no more ! 

The destruction was complete. That horrible, hot 
hurricane sweeping down from the new vent in Mont 
Pelee, that dread, death-dealing volley, so unerringly 
aimed at the doomed city, had done its work, and left 
no living thing in its wake! As it leveled the giant 
forest trees in its terrible onward rush, so it leveled 
the buildings of St. Pierre with one mighty crash, 
which almost drowned the mournful, last note of the 
great cathedral bell, as it tolled — ^when it was struck 
by the blast and hurled from its great height — a wild, 
weird requiem for St. Pierre’s unnumbered dead. 

Simultaneously with the lateral blast which de- 
stroyed St. Pierre, a terrific vertical eruption sent up 
a great shaft of volcanic matter, an immense black col- 
umn which rose to a great height with incredible rapid- 
ity; then spread out over the whole heavens, shutting 





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THE FATAL MORNING 


253 


out the light of day, and adding to the other horrors 
of the hour, that of dense darkness, which covered the 
whole island and spread its midnight gloom far out 
on the face of the troubled deep. It was the great pall 
Mont Pelee threw over his thousands of uncared-for 
slain on land and sea! Out of that darkness fell 
ashes and red-hot cinders and great flakes of volcanic 
matter that burned to a crisp everything it touched. 
In that darkness, the column above the volcano glowed 
with an unearthly glare from the subterranean furnace ; 
flashes of light played through the gloom; and St. 
Pierre burst into flames. Flames which were to burn 
for days ; for in that wrecked city, fire was to hold high 
carnival, with never a hand lifted to stay its prog- 
ress. 

Not content with wrecking a city, that insatiable 
blast from Mont Pelee’s red-hot furnace, with ap- 
parently none of its fury abated, swept down upon 
the roadstead, where eighteen fair vessels lay at anchor 
on the calm, blue waves. Only one of those vessels 
ever reached another port. At the first terrible on- 
slaught, before which the vessels were as frailest toys, 
the sea fled; and clouds of steam arose where the ter- 
rible tongue was trying to lick up the waves. Then 
the mighty sea gathered her courage to fight back the 
invader. In a stupendous wave, she rolled back over 
the roadstead up to the very edge of the sizzling shore, 
only to be driven back again. Twice, thrice, was she 
thus driven back, only to return to the assault, and 
finally to settle to the possession of her own. Many 


254 the prophet OF MARTINIQUE 

of the vessels were destroyed by fire. The first, great 
tidal wave swept over many of them. Merciful sea! 
To take to her kind bosom what the cruel volcano had 
marked for his own. A single vessel, disabled, bur- 
dened with a deck-load of volcanic ashes and molten 
stuff, slowly crawled out to sea, like a wounded thing, 
and finally reached the port of Castries, with most of 
her men dead, and the others, including her intrepid 
captain, horribly burned. Meanwhile, in the waters 
of St. Pierre roadstead, a few persons had survived 
that first terrible baptism of fire and flood, and a ter- 
rible struggle for life was going on in the rolling 
waves under that pitiless rain of fire. Ships, wrecked 
and in flames in the St. Pierre roadstead 1 Men, strug- 
gling, sinking, perishing ! Others horribly burned, and 
yet making a desperate struggle for life; on a raft of 
life preservers, a woman and child wounded, suffering, 
almost dying! Sailors clinging to wreckage to keep 
themselves from drowning, others fighting fire on a 
burning ship for hours! All this in sight of St. 
Pierre! And yet not a boat put out to their rescue, 
not a helping hand was reached out to them, and they 
dared not approach the flaming shore. Daylight re- 
turned and looked upon the awful scene. The waves 
were strewn with wreckage. The flames were raging 
in St. Pierre ; but not a fugitive was trying to escape 
them! 

A tragedy in St. Pierre! But there was no excite- 
ment in her market place, or in her streets; none of 
her citizens were standing on the street corners in lit- 


THE FATAL MORNING 


255 


tie groups, discussing it; her newspaper men were not 
writing it up; and none of her priests were trying to 
comfort the stricken. The greatest calamity of modern 
times in the beautiful island of Martinique! But the 
scientific committee, appointed by the Governor, made 
no report on it; the Governor himself did not report 
to France; and the Consuls of the United Sates and 
Great Britain, of Mexico, Denmark, Norway and 
Sweden did not notify their governments. All, peo- 
ple, priests. Consuls, Governor, all dead in the once 
beautiful city by the sea, with no eye to look on them 
through tears, no hand to lay them in the tomb and 
strew flowers over them, no voice to chant the re- 
quiescat! But only Mont Pelee, ceaselessly sifting her 
ashes, laying a blue-gray mantle over St. Pierre’s un- 
buried dead 1 

The day will wear on, and suffering people in the 
outskirts of the stricken district, and in the harbor 
and from the wrecked and burning Roraima will be 
rescued and cared for by the brave rescuers from Fort 
De France; but no rescuer will enter St. Pierre. The 
day will pass and the night will come. A passing 
vessel will stand far out and signal the burning city 
by skyrockets, signal again and again, but there will 
be no response, save the thunder of the great volcano. 
Thunder on, Mont Pelee! Your deepest rumble or 
most terrific crash cannot waken the sleepers in the 
silent city by the sea! The night will pass and the 
morning dawn, and yet another day will pass, ere hu- 
man feet will dare to tread the streets of that city. 


256 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

Meanwhile the news will spread over land and sea, and 
the great heart of Christendom will throb with sym- 
pathy for the stricken isle, proclaiming the kinship of 
all the world; and helping hands will be reached out 
from many nations and millions of people for the 
suffering and the terrorized, panic-stricken fugitives 
from Mont Pelee’s thunders and scorching hurricanes, 
and hail storms of stones, and rain of fire, and mighty 
torrents of lava sweeping down to the sea. But in 
St. Pierre no help will be needed, and there will be no 
terror of Mont Pelee’s wildest fury. As the days pass 
by, many will enter the awe-inspiring city. Stout 
British hearts will grow faint at the awful scenes about 
the spot where was once the British Consulate, as 
they search for their countryman. Tearful French 
eyes will search in the ruins for the body of their 
Governor. A broken-hearted Consul, from a neighbor- 
ing isle, will wander for hours to find a fair daughter 
among the slain. While Mont Pelee utters his direst 
threats, brave, loyal Americans will encoffin and bear 
away their dead Consul. But none of these things will 
move St. Pierre’s thousands, and still Mont Pelee will 
sift his ashes over the city that has become one vast 
tomb. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


FOR love's sake 

A nd the morning crept up from the sea over the 
little village of Carbet that nestled securely on 
the side of the steep ridge just south of St. 
Pierre, crept up over the green slope and white high- 
way and lighted the gray temple-like fronts of the 
two retreats Edward had built and fitted up. 

Vault-like rooms they were, dug in the hillside 
where the slope was greatest. They were finished with 
stone and barricaded above and around with heavy 
iron bars. Every item in the furnishings necessary 
to make them habitable had been remembered, even the 
little lamps in the niches in the wall. 

Just within the doorway of one of these, Heloise 
and Mme. Petit conversed in low tones while they 
breakfasted. In the other, Edward and Dr. LaTerette 
slept, the doctor, the deep sleep of exhaustion, Edward, 
a fitful broken sleep. But sleep "was far from the eyes 
of M. Petit, as it had been all that long night. On 
their arrival the evening before, Edward had welcomed 
them with joy but could not be induced to return with 
them. Finding the retreats rather comfortable and 
dreading the deadly fer-de-Iance, M. Petit had readily 
consented to stay. But the night had been one long 
257 


258 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

torture to him, for Edward had repeated all the rav- 
ings of the past week and had not slept until the faint 
light of morn. Then Dr. LaTerette, worn with many 
nights of watching, had at once fallen into a deep 
sleep ; but there was no sleep for M. Petit, and on the 
little level space just in front of the retreats he now 
paced back and forth with his hands clasped behind 
him, his form drooping, his head bowed, his brow 
knit, and his pale lips compressed. He was indulging 
in the bitterest reflections and self-reproach. Why had 
he been so obstinate ? Why had he not left this unfor- 
tunate, this fatal place years ago ? He was now ready 
to believe that with different surroundings, amid dif- 
ferent scenes, Edward might have grown into a sane 
man. 

Suddenly in the midst of these reflections Edward 
stood before him, with yellow hair disheveled, face 
deadly pale and eyes wild and gleaming. “Father,’* he 
began, and his words came in gasps, “see that shaft 
above Mont Pelee. ’Tis the last sign. ’Tis the great 
tombstone on which is carved the doom of St. Pierre !” 
Then suddenly changing his tone and expression he 
cried, “Father, where is Violet?” 

“She is at home, Edward.” 

“Is she not in there?” pointing to the retreat in 
which Mme. Petit and Heloise were. 

“No, Edward, she is safe in her own room asleep 
yet, I doubt not.” 

“Father! Good Heavens! at home! in St. Pierre! 
lost!” Then fiercely, “The demon of Mont Pelee has 


FOR LOVES SAKE 


259 


cheated me ! cruelly cheated me ! He told me she was 
here. He has fatally deceived me! O father! think 
of his cruel clutch on Violet’s white throat! Think 
of her dead face and staring eyes! My God, I can- 
not stand it. I have been mad ! mad to forget her for 
an instant. Love is above everything! And I love 
Violet, father, I love her! love her better than life! 
love her as you loved my mother! And,” suddenly 
drawing his slender form up to its full height, lifting 
his handsome head and stretching out his arms toward 
St. Pierre, ‘T will save her or I will perish with her !” 

Before his father realized what his speech meant, 
Edward was off like the wind toward St. Pierre. 
Fearful of what his wild fancy might lead him to do, 
M. Petit started in pursuit, but Edward’s fleet pace 
soon took him far in advance. Suddenly a deep rumble, 
a rock-rending crash, and M. Petit lay prone on his 
face, flung to the ground by an irresistible force. He 
lay for a brief space as if stunned, then he arose and 
looked about him in a dazed way. Edward was no- 
where to be seen and a deep darkness was replacing 
the bright morning with strange, awful midnight 
gloom. A great wave of heat that almost suffocated 
him came across the ridge, then it flashed over him 
what had happened. Mont Pelee had more than ful- 
filled Edward’s direst predictions. And with the light- 
ning rapidity of mental activity that comes to men in 
great crises, there rushed through his memory the 
events of years in a moment of time, as he stood there 
in the dread darkness. His girl-wife’s nervous dread 


26 o the prophet of MARTINIQUE 


of Mont Pelee and her pleading to go away, his son’s 
wild fancies and insane (or was it prophetic) ravings 
about the old dead volcano, the advice of friends and 
physicians about removing Edward, — all these rushed 
over him with a flood of pain. He dropped on his 
knees and lifting his pale face to the mercy of the 
ashes and red-hot cinders that were already falling on 
this side of the ridge, he cried, ‘'O God, not this! not 
this! Take my life; take all, all from me! Anything! 
anything but this! Spare my poor crazed boy. Let 
him not perish in this ! Oh, not in this way !” He 
bowed his head to the earth for a moment, then again 
lifting his face and stretching out his arms, he said 
in low tones, ‘‘O Lord, spare my boy and I promise 
Thee — But what am I doing?” He sprang to his feet 
and staggered forward in the darkness as fast as his 
trembling limbs would carry him. 

But he had scarcely taken three steps when a strong 
hand grasped his shoulder and Dr. LaTerette said, 
‘'No, M. Petit. You are going into sure death. Turn 
back. We must flee from this place as fast as pos- 
sible. Think of your wife and daughter ! Do you not 
see that beyond that ridge is certain death?” 

“Be it so! I will follow my son to death! I en- 
trust my wife and daughter to you, and — God.” And 
with the strength of desperation he wrested himself 
from the detaining grasp and started on. 

But see! Out of the midnight pall of darkness, a 
fugitive! Can it be? Yes, it is Joan! And what is 
it she half carries, half drags with her ? Is it pos- 


FOR LOVERS SAKE 


261 

sible? It is — in the faint returning light they can 
see his pale face and yellow hair! Both men rush 
forward to meet her, but her voice, though hoarse and 
broken, comes to them distinctly, ‘‘Back ! back fo’ yo’ 
life! Doan yo’ see dat am de mouf ob hell?” As if 
to verify her words, a blast of heat threefold more ter- 
rible that any preceding came across the ridge. 

As they reached Joan, M. Petit clutched Dr. La- 
Terette’s arm with a grasp that hurt and said in a hard 
tone, “Is he dead?” 

“No, bress de saints, not dead,” said Joan brokenly, 
“he jes done fainted I reckon.” 

Quickly as possible in the dense gloom the two men 
carried Edward to the retreat and placed him on a 
couch, and Dr. LaTerette applied restoratives, while 
Madame lighted the little lamp securely fastened to the 
stone wall murmuring, “How that poor child provided 
everything we need.” Soon Edward began to talk of 
childhood occurrences. 

“It is a real delirium this time, said Dr. LaTerette. 
“His over-exertion and the great heat have brought on 
a fever.” 

“Where did you find him?” said Heloise. 

“Joan must tell that,” replied Dr. LaTerette. 

“I done started obe’ hea ; I met him at de top ob de 
ridge jes at de crack o’ doom. He gib one scream, 
an den de cyclone done struck us, an’ it knocked me 
right obe’ on my back, an’ Edwa’d he fell right obe’ 
on his face, an’ I specs dat sabed him. Afo’ I could 
git up, sumpin mighty sou’ an’ bitte’ an’ hot an’ col’ an’ 


262 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


rough an’ scratchy done got in my froat. Den I 
says, ‘La sakes, Joan, dis hain’ no time fo’ yo’ to be 
goin’ back on yo’ promise to Edwa’d’s bressed modde’. 
Yo’s got to hoi’ out long enough to take him back.’ 
So I jes done tote ’im down de ridge tell I met — ” 

“You saved his life!” broke in Heloise. She threw 
her arms about Joan and sobbed out, “O you dear 
Joan!” 

But Joan pushed her back and staggered to a seat. 
“Doan, honey, doan do dat — Dey am sumpin — not jes 
right wid Joan — ^hea,” and Joan placed her hand on 
her chest. 

“O father,” cried Heloise, “Dr. LaTerette, Joan is 
ill! Joan is hurt!” 

“Oh, it hain’ nuffin, it hain’ nuffin.” 

A couch was quickly improvised and they soon had 
Joan on it and Dr. LaTerette was examining her, but 
she repeated, “Oh, it hain’ nuffin, it hain’ nuffin. De 
precious Edwa’d am safe, hain’ he?” anxiously. 

“Yes, Joan, quite safe,” said Dr. LaTerette. 

“Den it doan make no difference ’bout Joan, and I 
reckon, Docto’, it hain’ gwine to be bery long.” 

Dr. LaTerette turned his head away for a moment, 
then said, “I will do all I can for you, Joan.” 

“Jes tell — ” the voice choked, a spasm of pain 
crossed the face, and she moaned out, “Wate’, wate’ !” 

The water was brought, but she had great difficulty 
in swallowing. Then she turned again to speak, but 
her tongue and throat had swollen so that she could not 
make herself understood. By signs she made them 


FOR LOVES SAKE 


263 

know she wanted Mme. Petit. Madame came to her 
side with a kind of frightened look. The presence of 
death, with no priest near, was something terrible to 
her. Joan took from the bosom of her dress a crumpled 
paper and handed it to her and struggled to speak. 
After Dr. LaTerette had given her a potion, she was 
again able to speak and said, ‘T hain' said nuffin, 
Madame, but Fs knowed a heap, an’ I’s alius watched 
dat ramscallion mighty close, an’ I nebe’ stopped tell 
I run him to de wall. Dat leetle paper am gwine to 
make eber’ting right. Read it.” 

When Madame had read and re-read the paper, she 
flung herself on her knees beside Joan and said, ‘‘Oh, 
if you will only get well, I will — ” 

“Joan hain’ gwine to git well dis time.” 

Meanwhile M. Petit, who had been outside for a 
moment, was saying to Dr. LaTerette, “The city is all 
in flames and not a soul is fleeing this way. Could 
it be that — We must leave here as soon as possible!” 

“It will be but a short time,” said Dr. LaTerette, 
glancing toward Joan. “Then we will go.” 

“O father,” said Heloise, “won’t you ask Joan if 
Violet — ” and Heloise ended with a burst of tears. 

“Biolet am safe, I tink,” Joan said in reply to his 
inquiry. “She — ” then they caught the words, “Cap- 
tain John — ^boat.” After a time she said, “Tell he’ — ” 
Heloise bent nearer, “tell he’ I lobed he’ fo’ Edwa’d’s 
sake. I sabed him fo’ he’.” 

Heloise turned pale, but she bent down and whis- 
pered, “I’ll tell her.” 


264 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


Then Joan said faintly, ‘‘A priest.” 

‘Tsn't it dreadful,” said Madame, ‘‘that she cannot 
have a priest.” 

A look of terror came into Joan's eyes and she said 
to Madame, “You say de pra's.” 

Madame was still kneeling but sobs and tears were 
her only answer. M. Petit noticed the growing look 
of terror in Joan's eyes, and he came quickly to her side 
and kneeling beside his wife said in low, quiet tones, 
“Joan,, don't be afraid. The Lord is kind and loving 
and ready to forgive. He knows you can't get a priest, 
and so that won’t make any difference. He will for- 
give your sins anyway. I know some good words, 
Joan, in the blessed book, you know, that the priest 
reads. One of the saints wrote the precious words, 
‘Like as a father pitieth his children, even so the Lord 
pitieth them that fear Him.' Do you understand, 
Joan? You know how I have always loved Edward, 
and you know how sorry I have felt for him when — 
whenever he was in trouble. Now that is the way the 
Lord loves and pities ‘them that fear Him.' And 
that means you, Joan. Do you understand? ‘Like as 
a father.' ” 

The look of terror in Joan's face gradually gave way 
to one of joy. “Press de Holy Mudde’ an' all de saints ! 
I nebe' spected to hea' sich wo’ds from M. Petit ! De 
Lo'd am good ! He am good like a fadde' to let brack 
Joan hea' yo' say sich good wo'ds afo' she die. Now 
lif me up ; let me see Edwa'd.” Edward in his delirium 
just then murmured her name. Joan lay back on her 


FOR LOVES SAKE 


265 


pillow and smiled as she said, “Yes, Joan’s a’ms was 
strong an’ he’ hea’t was big, an’ de time done come 
when Edwa’d needed dem a’ms, an’ dat — ” A gasp, 
a fluttering breath and the faithful heart had ceased to 
beat. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


A PERILOUS VOYAGE 

T hat same fatal morning saw Captain John astir 
at early dawn, giving orders to his men; then 
leaving the ship, he was soon ashore and hasten- 
ing to the Petit residence. 

Violet, Mirianette and Joan were already up and 
dressed, early as it was. Violet’s anxiety for Ed- 
ward would not let her sleep. Again and again in 
the night she had gone over her terrible experiences 
with him that day at Morne Rouge, and she imagined 
all sorts of dreadful things that might have happened 
to him and Heloise before M. Petit and Dr. LaTerette 
could reach them. Why had they not returned? Ed- 
ward and Heloise might be lost on the mornes! Oh 
terrible thought! might even then be wandering on 
Mont Pelee’s rugged side! Thus in terrible forebod- 
ings the night had passed, and the tardy morning had 
come at last. 

‘"O father, I am so glad to see you !” she cried when 
Captain John appeared. ‘‘You will help to find Ed- 
ward.” 

But Captain John, for some reason, was almost as 
excited as Violet herself. “Come, Violet, I am glad 
266 


A PERILOUS VOYAGE 267 

to find you up. Come, we will go to Fort De France 
at once.” 

no, father, some dreadful thing must have hap- 
pened to Edward or they would have been back. You 
must — ” 

‘‘Violet,” interrupted Captain John, and for the first 
time she learned how stern and commanding he could 
be, “I am first going to Fort De France. I will not 
leave you here. As soon as you are safe at M. Boudi- 
noCs in Fort De France I will do all in my power to 
find Edward, and not till then.” 

Nothing more was needed to hasten Violet’s prepara- 
tions. Captain John asked Joan and Mirianette if 
they would go, too. “No!” said Joan. “What ’ud I 
do a gallabantin’ oE to Fo’t De France when I doan 
know ef de bressed Edwa’d am dead o’ alibe? I’s 
gwine to go right oE to dem ’treats obe’ de mo’ne, an’ 
I’s nebe’ gwine to stop tell I fin’ de bressed chile.” 
This gave Violet some comfort. 

Mirianette stood so long without answering him 
that Captain John began to think she had not heard 
him. Finally she said in low tones, “Dat Co’dot am 
gwine to go to Mo’ne Rouge dis mo’nin an’ I specs 
Mirianette bette’ gibe him a clea’ road. She don’t wan’ 
no mu’de’ on he’ soul. I’s nebe’ been to Fort De France. 
I’s ready to go.” 

Captain John hurried Violet and Mirianette down 
to the water’s edge, hurried them into the ship’s boat 
and soon had them aboard. Then he lost no time in 
steaming off. 


268 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


Living on the edge of the mighty deep all her life, 
this was, nevertheless, the first time Mirianette had 
ever been on a vessel. And as she watched the beauti- 
ful bright-hued city, in its setting of green mornes, 
slowly recede, and the expanse of blue, blue waves 
gradually widen between her and the shore, she had 
a strange sensation, as if her lovely island home were 
floating away from her on this quiet expanse of blue 
water, and she should never see it again. When the 
vessel had curved round and headed for Fort De 
France, she still had the same impression, except that 
now the island had changed its direction. But it was 
still floating by them. She watched now the cathedral 
towers which looked so snow white in the morning 
light, now the giant statue of the Christ overlooking 
the town, now the lighthouse, now the great stone 
monument surmounting the morne at the south of the 
town — watched them gliding, gliding away, and a 
great loneliness came over this child of the hills. From 
these transitory objects, the great sad eyes roved to 
Mont Pelee, the eternal. The great mountain loomed 
up as fixed and immovable as when she looked at it 
from her own little wave-beat, wind-swept Grande 
Anse home. And at last she had the comforting as- 
surance that the island was stationary and they were 
moving, moving majestically away in the Marianne. 
It was not the Marianne of old, but a new vessel, no 
larger, but finer, stauncher than the old, a grand ves- 
sel that swept proudly on and seemed almost to spurn 
the water as she moved smoothly over its surface. 


A PERILOUS VOYAGE 269 

Violet stood by Captain John^s side talking earnestly. 
She told him of Edward's disappearance, of the letter, 
of the party that followed, of their failure to return, 
and of her own terrible fears. She explained to him 
the position of the retreats and urged him to lose no 
time in going there. Captain John listened while his 
eyes were on Silvestre and Napoleon who were fol- 
lowing in their little boats, and now and then the kind- 
hearted captain threw a coin. ‘‘I suppose," went on 
Violet, ‘'that you would do your best in any case, 
father, but I urge you for my sake. I love Edward ! 
I love him as — ” 

Suddenly there was a tremendous roar, an earth- 
rending crash, and Mirianette clutched Captain John's 
arm as she said in a hoarse whisper, “Montagne Pe- 
lee!" 

At the same instant Captain John cried in tense 
tones of command, “Violet, to the cabin instantly!" 
For he, too, had seen the great shaft that suddenly shot 
skyward from Mont Pelee's crater and that most ter- 
rifying huge dark cloud that simultaneously broke 
out from Mont Pelee's riven side, and rushed with 
such awful velocity and force down toward the doomed 
city. 

“No, I will not leave you!" broke from Violet's 
white, set lips, but ere she had half finished her sen- 
tence she was seized in a strong grasp and carried away 
and the door shut her and Mirianette in just as that 
darkness descended upon them. 

Captain John stood for an instant with his eyes 


270 THE PROPHET OF MARTIN IQ UE 

riveted on that awful swift-moving cloud. As the 
sudden darkness began to fall, the cloud grew threat- 
eningly luminous as it neared the sea and seemed to 
burst into a sheet of flame in the edge of St. Pierre. 
As the combined force of the blast and the wave struck 
the Marianne, she careened on her side, and for a mo- 
ment even stout-hearted Captain John thought they 
were lost. But then the noble little vessel righted her- 
self in the darkness, the great out-going wave swept 
under her and she rode for an instant on an almost calm 
sea. Then Captain John knew what to do. Orders 
were quickly given and faithfully executed and soon the 
Marianne swung around toward the open sea and the 
steam was crowded on. They were just in the edge of 
that death-dealing blast and so had a chance to escape 
whole, or at least but slightly burned. And yet the 
frantic, heaving sea, the darkness, the uncertainty, the 
terrible unearthly sounds like Titantic cannonading, the 
falling ashes that were alarmingly hot and caused a 
tantalizing pain in the throat and eyes, the stifling heat, 
the awful realization of tremendous calamity involving 
thousands of human beings, made it a time of terror 
and awe to the bravest. Soon the ship was lifted high 
in the air and Captain John breathed a sigh of relief 
when he knew that she was riding on the crest of that 
stupendous shoreward wave instead of being engulfed 
in it. Then a deeper sigh, this time from the bottom 
of his sailor heart, for the beautiful vessels wrecked 
or in flames in the roadstead at St. Pierre. His own 
vessel was going down, down in the trough of the 


A PERILOUS VOYAGE 


271 

waves until it seemed the keel must grind on the 
bottom. 

What is this? What rash folly has seized this un- 
usually level-headed captain? For he has reversed 
orders. Is it possible he intends to sail right back into 
that seething caldron? The hot air becomes hotter 
with the oaths of men, who nevertheless have no 
thought of disobedience. The Marianne has changed 
her course, and is courting destruction, which already 
seemed only too imminent. ‘‘By — yelled an angry 
voice above the uproar, “I think Captain John is stark 
mad ! What under heaven can he — ” A terrible, siz- 
zling sound added to all the direful sounds of the mad 
sea and the madder earth. And directly in the former 
course of the Marianne and evidently in the very spot 
where she would have been at that moment, the water 
was boiling and steaming, where a great mass of fiery, 
volcanic matter had fallen. “Great Lucifer cried the 
same shrill voice. “Saved ! By the eternals ! that was a 
narrow escape! We’d never have reached port if that 
ninety tons of liquid fire and molten rock had struck 
us. How did Captain. John know?” 

But Captain John had not known. “Just a little 
interference on the part of Providence,” he would 
afterwards say. What had made him turn back then ? 
Only the sight of two little negro lads bravely strug- 
gling in the mad waves, with no trace of their tiny 
craft in sight, and the water behind them bubbling and 
steaming with heat. 

Captain John would never afterwards allow any 


272 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

mention of heroism on his part in this rescue, averring 
[that the only heroism in connection with it was shown 
fin the heroic utterance of the black lips that called out, 
“De kid fust!” Then when Napoleon was safe on 
board, and one more moment would have saved Silves- 
tre, the great wave that had set seaward again, this 
time laden with heavy wreckage from the wave-swept 
shore, struck him, something heavy struck his chest 
and — when crushed and dying he was at last on board, 
he lived but long enough to speak this broken sentence, 

Toleon he haf to be — de man — ob de fambly.” 

The Captain, looking at the still form and then pity- 
ingly at the frightened, exhausted, trembling, weeping 
Napoleon, said, ‘Toor little chap! He is indeed, as 
many another poor soul this day, a man without a 
family!” 

The ship had again changed her course and now, 
still battling with a heavy sea, and carrying consider- 
able cargo of ashes but with the danger from fire 
lessening every minute, was sailing steadily on. Violet 
had again taken her place at her father’s side and was 
tenderly bandaging his burned hands (Captain John 
never knew just how or when they were burned), and 
talking to him on such solemn themes as the hour 
suggested. 

Slowly at first, then more swiftly, they sailed on into 
daylight, into calmer seas, into cooler atmosphere, and 
at last into the port of Fort De France just as the 
French Suchet was steaming out to its noble work 
of rescue. Captain John added his ship and crew to 


A PERILOUS VOYAGE 


273 


the rescue force, but he had pledged himself to Violet 
for other work. So he landed the women, the frenzied 
Napoleon and the mangled remains of the brave “man 
ob de fambly.” 


CHAPTER XXV 


REUNION 

W OUNDED, frightened, half famished fugi- 
tives fled to Fort De France from the fury 
of the volcano fire and flood. Among the 
first of these was the Petit party, a weary, worn, sad 
party, bringing their sick, and leaving behind them 
their dead. For the little gray-fronted room in the 
hillside had become a tomb. 

They were met far outside the city by Captain John, 
who said, ‘‘Well, well. Pm glad to hail this squadron ! 
How are you ? How are you ? The little girl would 
have had me steering right into the jaws of death. I 
didn’t dare to go back without you. Oh, yes, she is 
safe and well; weathered the storm perfectly. Well, 
yes. I’m a little worsted,” holding out his bandaged 
hands. “I’ve put in for repairs. Oh, no, not at the 
hospital. They’ll have their hands full of people who 
are really injured, you know. This is nothing, this is 
nothing ! Edward is ill ? Too bad, too bad ! Oh, no, 
there is no hospital accommodation here for Edward. 
No, indeed, not for Edward. Not while I have friends 
in Fort De France. You are coming right along with 
me ; I’ll tow you into a haven that beats all the hospitals 
in creation. M. Boudinot is an old friend of mine. 


274 


REUNION 


275 


What do you suppose his big house is for? Violet is 
there now, and there will be plenty of room for the 
women and Edward. As for us men, we can — ” 

‘"But,” interrupted M. Petit, “Edward must — ^the 
women cannot wait on Edward.’^ 

“He is delirious,” interposed Dr. LaTerette. “Brain 
fever, or something like that.” 

“Oh, that’s all right,” Captain John hastened to say, 
“that’s all right. Edward shall have his doctor and 
his nurses, half a dozen of them if he wishes. But say ! 
I hope he’ll be well enough to move on in three or four 
days.” 

“To move on?” interrogated Dr. LaTerette eagerly. 

“Yes,” replied Captain John, “the little girl and I 
have been planning for us all, not even omitting 
Mirianette; for you know we brought her with us. 
Well, we’ve been planning for us all to take a trip to 
the larger islands, Cuba, Porto Rico, and Jamaica.” 

“The very thing!” said Dr. LaTerette. “Just as 
soon as — ” Then he glanced doubtfully and anxiously 
at Edward. “Yes, I think he’ll be, able to go in three 
or four days. I’m very anxious he should leave 
Martinique. Everything depends on it, everything!” 

They were soon comfortably located at M. Boudi- 
not’s, and Dr. LaTerette began his vigil beside Edward. 
Then between the two parties there was an interchange 
of experiences. Mme. Petit told of all their troubles, 
and Captain John told how Joan had positively refused 
to go with them, but said she must go to Edward ; then 
how, with Violet and Mirianette, he had boarded his 


276 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

ship on that fatal morning, and how they had just 
escaped the fiery storm that descended upon the ship- 
ping in the harbor, how they had rescued Napoleon, 
how they had battled with the waves, and reached 
Fort De France in safety. 

‘‘But what made you think it necessary,’^ asked M. 
Petit, “to leave St. Pierre so early in the morning? 
Did Mont Pelee give warning of — ” 

“Oh, no ! not that morning, though Mont Pelee had 
given warnings enough in the week before.” 

“True, true,” said M. Petit sadly. 

“No, to tell you the truth, Edward’s repeated warn- 
ings kept ringing in my ears, and I felt impelled to go 
to St. Pierre. And before I got there, I didn’t like 
the way the sea acted. I don’t know much about vol- 
canoes, but I’m pretty well acquainted with these 
waters, from cruising round in them the better part of 
forty years, and I never saw the sea act so before. It 
kept saying to me, ‘Steam away, steam away!’ And 
we steamed away just in time. I think ten minutes 
later would have been too late. As it was, we had a 
race for life.” 

The part of Captain John’s story that was most in- 
tensely interesting to Heloise was the account of Vio- 
let’s rescue; and she had him go over in detail the 
whole incident, allowing him to omit nothing. But the 
part that elicited most questions from Mme. Petit was 
the account of M. Cordot’s encounter with the fer-de- 
lance and Joan. 


REUNION 


277 

‘‘But, was there really no fer-de-lance there?’’ asked 
Madame. 

“No,” said Captain John, “you understand Joan had 
inflicted the wound. She did it with what she called a 
Zombi stick. I didn’t learn the secret of the Zombi 
stick. Joan claimed she had learned it from old 
Fabette, and was bound to secrecy. But I think its 
sharp point must have been charged with some poison 
that caused pain and swelling of the part, but was not 
fatal.” 

“He did not die, then ?” said Madame. 

“No, but he came near dying of fright. ‘De debiless 
an’ de priest,’ as Joan said, persecuted him enough that 
night to punish him for all his sins. By the way, he 
may have escaped. He expected to leave St. Pierre 
very early in the morning for Morne Rouge, and I hear 
Morne Rouge escaped destruction.” 

Violet glanced apprehensively at Mme. Petit, but saw 
nothing of the old pain and fear on her face. This she 
understood as soon as they were alone, and Madame 
had shown her the soiled and crumpled piece of paper 
which Joan had given her when dying. It contained 
what purported to be M. Durand’s dying confession, in 
which he said that he was not Louis Cordot Durand, 
Mme. Petit’s former husband, but his twin brother, 
Merton Durand, who had escaped punishment for an 
early crime by going to America, and whom Madame 
had never seen in the old life; that Louis Durand had 
died in the United States many years before, as re- 
ported, and his (Merton’s) remarkable resemblance to 


278 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

his dead brother, and the fact that he had all his broth- 
er’s letters and papers, had made it possible for him 
to play his part. 

‘‘Oh, I am so glad !” said Violet, when she had read 
this document. “You don’t know how that troubled 
me.” 

“O, Violet, a dread and horror indescribable has been 
lifted from me. Just think ! I need never fear him any 
more ! I need never see him any more. I’m sure that 
many a woman, to whom it is secure, does not know 
how dear to her is her reputation. And many a one 
who has never been threatened with the loss of them 
does not know how precious to her are the respect and 
love of her husband. The loss of wealth is nothing to 
me now. I am Eugene Petit’s lawful wife; can still 
keep his respect and love ; can still stand by him in his 
troubles; can still call him husband! O, Violet, a 
woman’s love is her life 1” 

Mme. Petit, in her earnestness, grasped both of Vio- 
let’s hands, and looked intently into her face. But 
Violet’s face was pale and her eyes downcast. Then in a 
sudden burst of reciprocal confidence, lifting her great 
eyes to Madame’s face, she said, “As you love M. Petit, 
so I love — Edward 1” 

“Edward 1” fairly gasped Madame. “Edward ! Why, 
I thought — I — are not you and Dr. LaTerette in love?” 

“Yes, we are very much in love,” with a faint smile, 
“but not with each other. For a long time I was not 
sure that my love for Edward was other than a sister’s 


REUNION 


279 

love; but now I know it is the love that makes or 
blights a woman’s life.” 

Madame’s face was sympathetic, and she said kindly, 
as she took Violet in her arms and kissed her, ‘If only 
it might have been ! You can never be more a daughter 
to me than you are now, but for Edward’s sake and 
yours — Oh, I had hoped so long against hope that 
Edward would one day be sane ! But I have given up 
hope. Dear Violet, this adds a new sadness to Ed- 
ward’s condition for me. It makes what otherwise 
would have been your greatest happiness, your greatest 
sorrow.” 

“O, Madame, let me hope yet ! I told myself months 
ago that I had given up all hope, but it was not so, and 
hope still rises high sometimes. Or I might rather say 
faith.” 

Madame scarcely heard the last part of this speech, 
for she was thinking of Heloise, and wondering how 
this intelligence would affect her. She was as eager to 
go to her with this news as she had been with an en- 
tirely different story a few months before. How long 
it seemed! Years! And she smiled a little as she 
thought how different her views were now. How she 
had changed ! Months in the school of suffering, added 
to the horror, fear, awe and grief she had experienced 
in connection with the awful calamity that had blotted 
out the city of her abode, had made her a different 
woman. She could now wish nothing better for 
Heloise than for her to be, some day when she was 
older, the wife of such a man as Dr. LaTerette. In 


28 o the prophet of MARTINIQUE 

this awful time of trouble, he had shown himself so 
courageous, so kind, so gentle, so delicately thoughtful 
of her and Heloise, and above all, so unselfishly devoted 
to Edward, that Madame already loved him as a son. 
But she had noticed the polite distance maintained be- 
tween the two ; at first with great satisfaction, and now 
with some misgiving. Had she been mistaken in 
thinking once that he cared for Heloise? She would 
go and find Heloise, and — 

But Madame need not have given herself any trouble 
in the matter, had she heard the conversation just then 
going on beside Edward’s bed. Heloise had gone in 
to ask concerning Edward’s condition and to beg for 
the privilege of sitting beside him for a little time. 

‘‘Yes, Mile. Petit,” Dr. LaTerette replied hesitat- 
ingly, “but I must not leave him. Not yet. His de- 
lirium is subsiding somewhat ; if I understand the case, 
before many hours he will sink into a deep sleep. Then 
I wish Miss Violet — ” He hesitated, fearing to pain 
Heloise by hinting that Violet could do for Edward 
what she could not. 

The pause on that name was embarrassing to Heloise, 
and she said, striving for a natural tone, “I am so glad 
Violet returned to us safe, particularly glad for your 
sake. Dr. LaTerette.” 

“For my sake!” echoed Dr. LaTerette in surprise. 
“I do not understand you, Helo — Mile. Petit. You 
surely do not think that — O, Heloise! Have you not 
long known that it is you I love? Dare I hope that 
sometime — ” 


REUNION 


281 

Heloise filled the pause with, ‘There was a time, Dr. 
LaTerette, when I could easily have learned to love you, 
but I thought you belonged to Violet, so I struggled to 
overcome my feelings for you ; and — ” in low tone and 
with face half averted, “I succeeded — ” 

“You succeeded!’^ gasped Dr. LaTerette, and the 
intense pain in his tone was unmistakable. “Don’t say 
that!” 

“Yes,” went on Heloise in the same low tone, “I 
succeeded — ” suddenly turning her eyes full upon him, 
“in making myself very miserable.” 

Then — ^you know all the silly, idiotic things lovers 
have been wont to do and say on such occasions since 
the world was young. And these two had been no ex- 
ception had not Madame just then entered, who, dis- 
creet woman, saw nothing but Edward, over whom she 
bent in the greatest solicitude. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE SHADOW LIFTS 

I T was early morning of the third day of Edward’s 
illness. Madame had long been watching by his 
bedside, while Dr. LaTerette slept. Edward’s de- 
lirious ravings had ceased, and at dawn he had fallen 
into a quiet sleep, the first during his illness. The 
watcher thought of all the numberless times since his 
babyhood she had thus sat by his bed until he had 
fallen asleep, in the dear old home in St. Pierre; and 
the tears that filled her eyes and dropped unheeded on 
her folded hands were partly hopeless tears for Edward, 
as she thought of what he was and what he might have 
been without the shadow on his brain; partly tears of 
grief for the ruined home and all the dear, silent friends 
in that silent city ; partly tears of sorrow for the faith- 
ful — more than servant — friend, who had loved Ed- 
ward so dearly, and had perished serving him. She 
tried to think how they would tell him of Joan’s death, 
and pictured his wild ravings when he should know 
the cause of it. 

‘What, Hortense, dear, weeping?” said M. Petit at 
her side, in a tone that made Madame’s heart throb with 
its new feeling of security in his love. ‘T fear you 
282 


THE SHADOW LIFTS 283 

are overtaxing your strength; you are not well, Hor- 
tense.” 

yes,” she replied, rising and putting both her 
hands on his arm, “I am better, much better. Part of 
my tears were tears of gratitude that we all escaped. 
But I was wondering how we could tell him about 
Joan.” 

‘‘Shall we ever tell him ? O, Hortense, I fear — ” 

“Fear what, Eugene?” in alarm, looking hastily at 
Edward’s pale face. “You do not mean — oh, no, 
Eugene ! I am sure Edward will get well.” 

“Physically, yes. But — Dr. LaTerette calls it de- 
lirium ; but I am afraid the shock has finished the work, 
and Edward is totally — ” He could not make his pale 
lips utter the word ; and the pain on his face was pitiful 
to see. 

“No, Eugene, no!” she said almost fiercely in her 
effort to comfort him. “He is no worse — in that way. 
He will never be any worse. He will grow better.” 

“Hortense,” slowly and painfully he said it, “on my 
bended knees, under that rain of fire, I vowed to the 
Lord that if Edward might escape that horrible death, 
I — But, O Hortense,” he broke off, “my faith cannot 
stand the strain, if Edward’s intellect is entirely 
clouded I” He said the words with great effort. 

Then did Madame have an inspiration. Slowly and 
softly, she repeated to him the words he had uttered 
in the freshness of his faith, “ ‘Like as a father pitieth 
his children, even so the Lord pitieth — ’ No, Eugene, 
dismiss such fears. The Lord is merciful.” 


284 the prophet OF MARTINIQUE 


As they stood watching Edward’s sleep, Dr. La 
Terette came in and insisted that Madame should sleep. 
He examined Edward critically, stood long over him 
with thoughtful brow ; then said, Petit, may I ask 
that you will accompany the young ladies on a walk? 
They both need it, and you need it no less. We must 
all have steady nerves when Edward awakes. He is in 
a deep sleep, and I am sure will not waken until your 
return. Then I shall ask that you and Violet watch 
with me until he wakens. For I think — ” The en- 
trance of Heloise and Violet just then interrupted him 
for a moment. He struggled to be calm as he went on, 
“For I hope that Edward will be better in every way ; 
better than he has been for a long time.” 

“O, Dr. LaTerette, do you mean — ” but here He- 
loise’s voice broke. 

As the young doctor noticed how these three per- 
sons, dear to him, hung on his answer, he trembled lest 
he was raising false hopes; but he replied, “Yes, I hope 
for Edward’s complete recovery.” 

A great wave of color passed over M. Petit’s face, 
leaving it paler than before. Then he stood a long 
time looking at Edward’s quiet, pale face. As he turned 
away he said despondently, “Too good to be true, to be 
even hoped for !” 

“I have prayed for that so long,” Heloise almost 
whispered to Violet, as they walked along one of the 
quiet streets. 

“Prayed for it?” said Violet, half wonderingly. “Do 



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THE SHADOW LIFTS 285 

you not just say the same set prayers, Heloise? And 
they have in them nothing — like that.’' 

‘‘No,” said Heloise, “but it is like this: I have in 
mind that I want Edward healed, and then I say three 
or four ‘Hail Marys.’ ” 

“Oh!” said Violet, looking at Heloise with a new 
light on her face. “It is the same after all. I, too, 
have been praying for him every day, only, you know, 
I just ask directly for his recovery. But it is just the 
same. Your heart is asking for it and that is the 
prayer. And — and I’m so glad to know that about 
your prayers. I thought they didn’t meet your need, 
but now I see how they do.” Then these two girls, 
Catholic and Protestant, clasped hands over a common 
trouble, a common faith, a common Refuge. 

In this walk they went to the public gardens, and the 
two girls stood long before the statue of Josephine. 
“How very, very beautiful 1 ” said Heloise, “that snow- 
white marble silhouetted against the green of the morne 
beyond. And what a sweet face!” 

“But how unutterably sad !” said Violet. “See how 
the lovely face is turned a little toward that beautiful 
valley in the hills where her happy childhood was 
passed, turned toward her early home with such a 
yearning look — O, Heloise, forgive me!” For two 
great tears were rolling down Heloise’s cheeks, and her 
eyes were looking toward St. Pierre. 

Then they wandered put to the edge of the town. 
They paused to watch a group of fugitives coming in ; 
a motley group, old and young, black, brown and yel- 


286 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

low, some half clad, some carrying their poor little 
treasures, all frightened and pitiable to see. 

But who is this moving slowly behind, with weary 
step, carrying her tray on her head and that queer little 
bundle on her back? Is there not something familiar 
in the form and face ? Suddenly Mirianette, who has 
accompanied them, darts forward with a cry. It is 
Vevine! Then Vevine’s voice, hollow and faint, ‘‘Un- 
load me quick, honey, I’s so tired, so tired !” And this 
time there was no faintest trace of a smile on the wan 
face, but only grief and weariness, and illness unto 
death. They lifted the burden from her head and 
found, among other things — money ! Forty thousand 
francs! They took the little bundle from her back, 
and found — a babe but three weeks old ! 

A kind woman whom Captain John knew, who lived 
just round the corner, took the sick woman in. As 
quickly as possible they called a doctor, then a priest. 
Meanwhile, brokenly, Vevine told what she knew of 
the money. Then with unutterable sadness, she told 
of Louis Cordot’s death, told as she had it from the 
fugitives from Morne Rouge, how he had been over- 
taken outside the doomed city by that terrible rain of 
fire, and had died soon after reaching Morne Rouge. 
Then poor, young, pretty, foolish Vevine poured out 
her penitent, pitiful confession of sin, and sought for- 
giveness through the only means of obtaining it she 
had ever heard of. 

Tired Vevine! The way is mercifully short. The 
evening time is coming on. The darkness creeps on 


THE SHADOW LIFTS 


287 


apace. You are nearing the sea, the boundless sea of 
eternity 1 Hear the eternal music of its waves, and see 
its surf break white on the earth side! The heavy 
burden of life is lifted, and Vevine is at rest. 

It was the first time Violet had ever witnessed all 
the form and ceremony of a Catholic death-bed. “You 
donT believe in all this beautiful ceremony, do you?” 
said Heloise, sadly. 

“No, not as you do,” said Violet. “You believe that 
through all this, poor Vevine has a chance to emerge 
from purgatory sometime. I believe,” and Violet’s 
eyes were full of a great light, “that in spite of all this, 
through all the useless medium of priest and form and 
superstition, the dear, merciful Christ has heard 
Vevine’s heart cry out for forgiveness, and that he who 
said to the accused woman, ‘Neither do I condemn 
thee,’ has lifted the load of sin from Vevine, and made 
her fit for the holy land now ! That she is resting in 
Him who said, ‘Come unto me all ye that labor and are 
heavy laden and I will give you rest.’ ” 

“Do yo’ believe dat sho’. Miss?” 

Violet looked into, the solemn black face and sad 
eyes of Mirianette, and saw such a yearning for com- 
fort that it broke down completely the reserve that was 
so habitual to her on this subject and she said, re- 
membering so vividly all Mirianette had told her that 
day in the botanical garden, “Yes, Mirianette, indeed 
I do 1 I believe Vevine has climbed the hill up to the 
cross, and has looked forward to the still sea and the 
bright city, the City of God, with its gold-paved streets 


288 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


and its great, white throne ; and has looked back to the 
little dull city, and the restless, foaming sea of this life, 
and has been glad to go on to the bright, beautiful city ; 
and, all weary with her load of sin, has said, ‘Unload 
me quick, please, I's so tired, so tired!' And the dear 
Christ has lifted the load of sin and sorrow, and Vevine 
is happy at last. No more hard roads to travel, no 
more heavy loads to carry!" 

“Dat so beautiful ! How you believe dat ? De good 
fadde' he not say so." 

While Violet hesitated, uncertain how to reply, M. 
Petit interrupted with “We must return. We must not 
be a moment later than the time appointed by the 
Doctor." 

Leaving Captain John to help Mirianette to make 
all necessary arrangements for the dead, they hurried 
home. When they arrived, M. Boudinot, who stood 
on the veranda awaiting their coming, said Dr. La 
Terette was very anxious for their return. Violet and 
M. Petit hastened to Edward’s room, and found Dr. 
LaTerette watching his patient with a critical, profes- 
sional look, and only a tense clinching of the left fist 
showed his extreme anxiety. 

Presently Edward flung up his arms and murmured, 
“No, Joan, do not stop me; I must save Violet!” Then 
just as he opened his eyes. Dr. LaTerette stepped aside 
and motioned Violet nearer. Edward looked long at 
her, then a little fluttering sigh passed his lips, he closed 
his eyes wearily and murmured, “Saved !" 


THE SHADOW LIFTS 289 

think he will sleep for a time now/' whispered Dr. 
LaTerette." 

As if in answer, Edward at once opened his eyes, and 
looked earnestly at Violet, at his father, at Dr. LaTer- 
ette, then again at Violet and said, ‘‘You are not hurt 
at all?" 

“Not in the least," replied Violet, stepping to the 
bedside and taking his hand for a moment in both hers. 

A glance all about the room, then, “I do not know 
where I am." 

“We are in Fort De France," said his father, “at the 
house of M. Boudinot, who is a friend of Captain 
John." 

“Was St. Pierre entirely destroyed?" 

M. Petit looked earnestly at Edward as he said this, 
and the light of a great hope dawned on his face. 
But he was so long without replying that Edward 
turned to Dr. LaTerette. 

“Yes, entirely destroyed," said Dr. LaTerette. 

Again Edward looked about inquiringly and said 
anxiously, “Where is Heloise?" 

“She is—" 

But Heloise, who had been waiting and listening in 
the next room, was already beside him, her eyes gleam- 
ing, her cheeks glowing. She flung herself on her 
knees beside the couch, took his hand in hers, laid her 
cheek against it as in the old childhood days, and said, 
“O, you darling brother! I am here. You are well, 
well I and we shall have such happy times together." 

“Is mother safe?" 


290 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


‘‘Yes, dear, we are all safe. And you must hurry 
and get strong, for we intend to leave Martinique as 
soon as you are strong enough.'' 

“I should be so glad to leave Martinique!" said 
Edward fervently. “I am so weary with — " 

“Edward, dear," said his father, bending over him 
with solicitude, “do not talk any more now. We will 
leave Martinique to-morrow if you can go, and will 
never return if you say so. I have loved Martinique; 
it is the place of my birth. I have loved her bright days 
and fair nights, her exuberance of life, her light and 
color and beauty. But ten thousand times more do I 
love my only son, and I am so grateful that God has 
given him back to me, that we will say good-bye to 
Martinique forever, if you wish it." There was fever- 
ish eagerness in his tones, and a war between anxiety 
and hope on his face as he looked at his son. 

Edward smiled at him reassuringly, and replied 
quietly, “I wish to go. Perhaps not forever, father. 
We may return sometime. But whether we go or stay, 
you need not be afraid, dear father, that the old night- 
mare will ever return upon me. I am freed from that 
forever I" 

As M. Petit looked into Edward's great, earnest eyes 
and saw there not a trace of the old fire that had burned 
into the father's soul, he felt that this was true; and 
without any reply he knelt beside Heloise, and in one 
deep-toned sentence, poured out his gratitude : “Dear 
Lord, I thank Thee that Thou hast restored my son 
to me whole." 


THE SHADOW LIFTS 


291 


Violet knelt on the other side of Heloise, and in a 
flood of tears wept out her double joy. For in the 
midst of her joy over Edward’s recovery this little 
scripture verse kept repeating itself over and over in 
her mind, ‘‘Behold he prayeth.” Madame, who was 
just entering, dropped to her knees and devoutly crossed 
herself. Dr. LaTerette still watched Edward critically, 
but the anxiety on his face was gradually giving way 
to glad assurance. 

The silence was broken at last by Edward, who said, 
“I know what a trouble I have been to — ” 

Heloise’s hand was slipped quickly over his mouth 
as she said, “I shall not permit you to talk so just when 
we are all so happy because we have you again. You 
have never been any trouble to any one. Now here 
is mother waiting to have a word with you, and then 
we’ll plan for our trip.” 

He looked up in Madame’s face as she bent over him, 
looked all about the group, then at Madame and asked, 
sadly, “Did Joan — did we leave Joan behind, mother, 
or was that a part of my dream ?” 

“Yes, dear, we left her behind,” whispered Madame. 
Then a silence fell on them all. 

Later, after Edward had slept and rested, when they 
were all discussing the proposed trip to Cuba and other 
islands, Madame, the practical, said, “But that would 
be quite an expensive trip. And we are poor now, are 
we not, Eugene ? We would not wish — would we — to 
expend out last money in that way?” 

“Money!” said Captain John, emitting a moderate 


292 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

hurricane, as if in contempt of such a mundane con- 
sideration, ‘‘I don’t know how it happened, and I don’t 
often mention it, but I’m rich,” apologetically, quite as 
if it were something to be ashamed of, ‘‘and I reckon 
what’s mine’ll be Violet’s some day, and — and — with 
a breezy laugh, “I reckon what’s Violet’s ’ll be Ed- 
ward’s, so I propose that Edward take us all on a 
pleasure trip.” 

Edward’s eyes were turned on Captain John with an 
earnest, inquiring gaze, and a glad light mingled with 
the surprise on his face as he said, “Would you really 
be willing to give Violet to mef 

Captain John took one of Edward’s hands and one 
of Violet’s in his own and said, “Of all the men in the 
world, I would choose to give her to you; because — 
well, she will tell you sometime. Edward, my boy, it 
will take a gentle hand to steer this precious craft 
through the uncertain waters of this life. I trust her 
to you.” 

And those who stood by never forgot the exalted 
beauty of Edward’s face at that moment, as gazing into 
the great, violet eyes that looked unwaveringly into his 
with their story of love and trust, he said, “After the 
deep shadows of my night, this beautiful flood of sun- 
light fresh from God’s own hand almost dazzles me.” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


IN WHICH ARE RECORDED THREE CONVERSATIONS 

N apoleon,” said Captain John the next day 
as he sat with Violet and Edward, “how should 
you like to be a sailor?” 

“I doan know,” replied Napoleon meditatively, “Ps 
not ’sidered de matter’.” 

“Well, come alongside, sonny, let’s consider it,” said 
Captain John, motioning to an empty chair at his side. 

Napoleon perched himself, feet and all, on the chair 
and folded his arms around his knees. “Now, Cap’n, 
I’s ready.” But his eyes were fixed on Edward. 

“I want a chap about your size,” began Captain John, 
watching the boy’s face, “to go on my boat. I want a 
strong chap, a chap that’s not afraid of water and not 
afraid of work, and a smart chap. Now, doesn’t that 
description about fit you, sonny ?” 

“I’s afraid it does,” said Napoleon, looking intently 
at one corner of the ceiling. 

When Captain John had recovered his astonishment 
at this reply, he went on, “I could pay you small wages 
from the first. Afterward, when I had made a first- 
class sailor of you I could pay you good wages, and 
by-and-by you’d be a rich man and have a ship of your 
293 


294 the prophet OF MARTINIQUE 

own. Don’t you think that’s about what you ought to 
do for yourself?” 

‘I’s afraid it is,” replied the boy, still contemplating 
the same corner of the ceiling. 

“Besides,” said Captain John, changing his tactics, 
“Edward over there,” with mock disapproval, “has 
stolen a march on me and taken my girl in tow, and 
pretty soon she’ll be sailing in his wake for good and 
I’ll be a lonesome, childless old man. Now don’t you 
think you ought to take pity on me and cheer the last 
part of my life voyage?” 

“I’s ’fraid I ought.” 

The boy’s eyes were still fixed on the ceiling and 
Captain John saw a tear silently steal down the dusky 
cheek. “Well, well, sonny,” said he, “you’re only con- 
sidering the matter. You can decide either way, you 
know.” 

“Yo’ sabed my life — ” began Napoleon. 

“Tut, tut! that has nothing to do with the present 
consideration, nothing whatever. Just leave that out 
of account, sonny.” 

“Cues yo’ nebe’ los’ a mammy ?” said the boy. 

“Aye, lad, one of the best mothers a boy ever had.” 

“Den I guess yo’ nebe’ los’ a twin brudde’ ?” 

“No,” admitted Captain John, “never had one.” 

“Den yo’ doan quite un’e’stan’,” said the boy, taking 
his eyes from the ceiling and fastening them on Ed- 
ward’s face with an air that said, “Edward under- 
stands all about twin brothers.” 

“So, so! that’s the way the wind blows, is it?” 


THREE CONVERSATIONS 


295 


“Well, yo* see,” said the boy, gaining courage, 
“Missy Biolet she 'sidered, an’ she ’eluded to libe wid 
^ M’sieu’ Edwa’d ’stead o’ yo’. Now I’s ’sidered, an’ I’s 
’eluded she am right. So efen it am jes de same to 
yo’, Cap’n, I guess I’s gwine to do de same.” 

“Deserted a second time for Edward !” exclaimed the 
amused Captain. “Look here, sonny, I can pay you 
more money than Edward can.” 

“Mebbe yo’ tink,” said the boy, recovering his spirits 
rapidly, “dat money am ebe’ting, but it jes not. ’Sides,” 
and the mischievous look that cannot long be absent 
from some darkies’ faces, returned to his, “ ’sides — I 
hea’d yo’ say it yo’se’f wid my own two ea’s — what am 
yo’s am Missy Biolet’s, an’ what am Missy Biolet’s am 
M’sieu’ Edwa’d’s, an’ — ” 

“Well, finish it, you young rascal,” said Captain 
John, highly amused. “And what is Edward’s is 
yours, eh? So, so! Since it’s all in the family you 
have my consent. See that you’re faithful to Edward, 
my lad.” Here Napoleon took position for his peculiar 
double somersault profound bow, but looking at the 
hard floor thought better of it and was helpless for 
means to express him thanks. 

“Well, well, Edward,” laughed Captain John, “I 
wish you joy of your growing prospective household, 
for I heard Mirianette the other day declare similar 
sentiments of allegiance to Violet. But ‘talk about 
angels’ — ” for just then Mirianette herself entered for 
a word with Violet. 

While this conversation was going on, M. Petit had 


296 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

joined Heloise and Dr. LaTerette on the veranda. 
“Dr. LaTerette/' he began at once, “there is something 
Tve been wanting to say to you for some time. Tve 
changed my views in regard to Christianity. I hope 
with all my heart that if all I have said to you at 
various times has helped to shatter your religious faith, 
I may be able somehow to — ” 

“Pray do not let that trouble you," interrupted the 
young man. “That faith, only partially shattered, has 
been made entirely whole again, with the help of 
Heloise." Something in the way Dr. LaTerette looked 
at Heloise and something in his tone as he spoke her 
name made M. Petit start and look at the two closely. 
Then he began to comprehend. 

“Heloise, child," he said, “come here." Heloise 
arose and stood before him. The added tint of pink on 
her cheeks and the new light in her soft brown eyes 
made her even more beautiful. M. Petit looked her 
over from head to foot. “Why, child, you are grown 
up !" 

“Almost," said Heloise, laughing. 

M. Petit studied his daughter’s face for an instant, 
then with the sigh that must escape a father’s heart 
when he finds that his daughter has slipped into woman- 
hood without his knowing it, he pressed her hand to his 
lips. Retaining the hand in his own, he turned to Dr. 
LaTerette and said warmly, “I am glad of this, Victor. 
I hope you will not ask to take her from us for a long 
time yet, but when you do, you have my full consent." 
After a pause he continued, “This relieves me of some 


THREE CONVERSATIONS 


297 

of the burden of obligation I have felt myself under for 
your incalculable services to — 

“Don’t mention it, M. Petit. Even if — ” 

The conversation was here interrupted by Captain 
John, who came out leading by the hand the very un- 
ambitious Napoleon and saying, “Gentlemen, what do 
you suppose this youngster has done ?” 

While he recounted with many embellishments and 
much enjoyment his conversation with Napoleon, 
Mirianette was saying to Violet, “Missy Violet, what 
’us dem good wo’ds yo’ spoke once ’bout de good Lo’d 
not a blamin’ a po’ gal lak Vevine? Sumpin lak, ‘An’ 
I doan blame yo’ neide’.” 

Patiently, tenderly, in simple language Violet told 
the story of the accused woman and Christ’s forgive- 
ness. 

“Dat’s it,” said Mirianette at its close. “Bern’s de 
good wo’ds, ‘Neide’ do I condemn yo’.’ An’, Missy 
Violet, what ’us dem ode’ good wo’ds ’bout all dem dat 
wo’k ha’d an’ tote heavy loads cornin’ to Him to res’ ?” 

Slowly and softly Violet repeated, “Come unto me 
all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give 
you rest.” 

“Dat’s it,” again said Mirianette, gazing- out 
at the waving palms and blue sky. “Bern’s de 
good wo’ds. Would yo’ say dem once mo’. Missy 
Violet?” Again she repeated the familiar words, soft- 
ly and tenderly. Tears gathered in Mirianette’s eyes, 
and washed out a little of the old sadness as they fell. 
“Dat so beautiful! Dem good wo’ds am in Mirian- 


298 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


ette^s hea’t now. 'Come unto me all ye dat labo’ an’ 
am heavy laden, an’ I will give yo’ res’.’ An’, Missy 
Violet,” after a long pause, "it am all right now, an’ 
Mirianette can keep all dem beautiful wo’ds in he’ hea’t, 
dat yo’ spoke ’bout Vevine. Case I tole de good fadde’ 
all ’bout what yo’ said so sweet ’bout de cross on de 
hill an’ de dull city an’ de bright city o’ God, an’ dea’ 
Christ.** There was something touching in the great 
awe and reverence with which this simple child of faith 
spoke that name. "De dea’ Christ his ownse’f takin’ 
off he’ load o’ sin. An’ I said ef it ’us wrong fu’ 
Mirianette to b’lieve dat, she’d try to fo’git it. An’ 
what yo’ reckon de good fadde’ say. Missy Violet? 
What yo’ reckon he say ?” 

"I don’t know, Mirianette, but I’m sure he must have 
said the right thing.” 

"He jes put his two ban’s on my shoulde’s. Missy 
Voilet, an’ looked in my eyes so kin’ an’ dey ’us tea’s 
in his eyes, an’ he say, 'Mirianette, chile’ — dem ’us jes 
his wo’ds — 'Mirianette, chile, ef it make yo’ po’ lonely 
hea’t feel any bette’ to b’lieve dat, doan yo’ be ’fraid to 
b’lieve it. I guess mebbe us po human creatu’s cain’t 
’magine anyting too kin’ an’ lovin’ ’bout de tende’ 
Mary’s blessed Son.’ ” 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


CUBA LIBRE 

O N May seventeenth, when Mont Pelee was again 
pouring out his wrath, and hundreds were flee- 
ing in terror, and even in Fort de France there 
was a pitiable panic. Captain John and his friends were 
steaming over the blue, blue waters for Cuba. 

Even Mirianette was with them, Mirianette and the 
babe that was to be hers, the little Vevine. It had been 
decided before they left Fort De France that the money 
which Vevine had carried should be the child’s; and 
Madame had proposed that she should take the child 
and see that it was brought up. But just then chanc- 
ing to glance at Mirianette, who was holding the babe, 
she had noticed a strangely wistful look on the solemn 
black face, and so had happened to inquire her wish in 
regard to it. Mirianette had hugged the little yellow 
mite to her breast and said, “I doan know ’bout de 
money. I doan know whe’ Vevine got dat money. 
But de little Vevine look mighty like he’ mudde’ ! An’ 
I’s strong, I could wo’k fo’ two. She look mighty like 
he’ mudde’ ! An’ Mirianette hain’ got nobody else.” 

And Madame had answered, ‘The babe shall be 
yours, Mirianette, and you shall both stay with us. You 
shall take Joan’s place.” 


299 


300 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

And now Mirianette sat in her secluded corner on the 
ship, crooning to the babe, and a new, strangely tender 
look was growing on her face. 

Captain John and M. Petit were leaning over the 
railing, talking of the events of the few preceding days. 
‘"No,” M. Petit was saying, ‘1 am not quite penniless ; 
I have good investments in the United States. And 
if I conclude to live there, Pll soon be on my feet 
again.” 

“Live there!” echoed Captain John in amazement. 

“I don’t wonder you are surprised. But I have 
changed my mind about the American people. I used 
to have an unreasonable prejudice against them. I 
used to believe that they worshipped the almighty dol- 
lar ; that they held it before their eyes until it obscured 
everything else ; that they cared for nothing else, knew 
nothing else. But all my old prejudice has melted 
away before the marvelous liberality with which the 
United States has responded to the needs of our poor, 
suffering Martinique. I have just to-day learned the 
full extent of it. Not only their generosity, their large- 
heartedness, but the dispatch with which they have 
planned and are executing their beautiful system of 
relief, quite takes my breath away. Give me your 
hand. Captain John; let me through you shake hands 
with the United States. She has won my heart and 
my unbounded admiration. I cannot understand it. 
What kind of a nation is it ? And what kind of a man 
is your President Roosevelt? While English lords, 
forsooth, -^it for a precedent, he just presses the but- 



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CUBA LIBRE 


301 


ton, it seems, and instantly hundreds of thousands of 
money and great ships and many men, by magic as it 
were, are at the service of the suffering people of the 
West Indies. History furnishes no parallel to it ! Why, 
man, your President and others of your great men spent 
their Sabbath this week on their plans for the relief 
of Martinique. And you and I know what the people 
of Fort De France did that same Sabbath ! I congratu- 
late you. Captain John, on having a country that is rich 
enough and energetic enough and kind-hearted enough 
to do as she has done.’' 

There was a moisture in Captain John’s eyes not 
caused by the glare of the southern sun, and his voice 
was a little husky as he replied, “No praise of my coun- 
try sounds too big. She is my first love. She has 
been my god ; the record of her glorious deeds has been 
my bible, and my patriotism has been my religion. But 
lately,” and a deeper tone of reverence came into Cap- 
tain John’s voice, “I’ve applied for citizenship in a bet- 
ter country. Yes,” after a brief pause, “I’ve taken an 
oath of allegiance to the Lord Jehovah. I’ve accepted 
His chart and His compass and promised to sail under 
His banner. I don’t know whether you know what I 
mean; I don’t fully know myself. But you see, the 
little girl claimed that the Lord sent me to her rescue 
that evening that those confounded French — I beg your 
pardon — that those villains had her in their power. 
And maybe He did. Something told me to go. And 
then when our little craft was threatened with destruc- 
tion, I promised Violet that if the ‘Lord led us out of 


302 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 

that’ (that’s what she called it) I’d serve the Lord. 
(Those are her words, too.) And He led us out, and 
now I’m not going back on my promise. And that 
brings me back to what you were saying about my 
country. You ask me what kind of a nation it is. I 
think I can tell you the secret. And that’s why I’m 
so proud of her. It ain’t because she’s the richest 
nation in the world, though she is (Captain John was 
wont to lapse into dialect when he was excited). It 
ain’t because she has the most vim and push and ‘git 
up an’ go,’ though she has ; it ain’t because she has the 
smartest and best educated people in the world, though 
she has, but it’s because she is ‘a nation whose god is the 
Lord.’ Aye, M. Petit, it is the hand of Christian help- 
fulness that is extended to your stricken island. It 
only means that the United States recognizes what the 
Lord wants her to be in the world. Three days from 
now you may see the consummation of her beautiful 
plan and work for Cuba.” 

“Why, you don’t think — but why should I doubt 
now, that she will actually give to Cuba her freedom.” 

“Doubt it? Well, wait and see. Why, she would 
have done so before if that had been best for Cuba. 
But think what this four years has meant to Cuba. 
It’s like taking a girl from a poor, shiftless family 
where she has had no chance to learn anything, and 
putting her for four years in a well-to-do, well-regu- 
lated family under a splendid housekeeper before put- 
ting her over a house of her own. Cuba has learned 


CUBA LIBRE 


303 

a great deal from four years of American house- 
keeping.” 

‘‘Oh, it is really true, then, that Cuba is to be free at 
last !” 

Captain John turned and saw Edward, with face 
rather pale but glowing with enthusiasm. “True as 
gospel!” he said, taking both Edward’s hands in his 
great palms. “Edward, you’ve been a good friend to 
Cuba since you were a boy, and you don’t know how 
glad I am that you are going to be in at the hour of her 
triumph. You’ll see the greatest flag of all the world 
voluntarily give place to that quaint little flag of the 
star and triangle you have watched so long.” 

Three days later, with thousands of other visitors, 
our friends were viewing the festive scenes in the quaint 
old city of Havana, and joining in the great rejoicings 
over the birth of a new republic. They had admired 
the gay decorations, the arches, the palms, the two flags 
intertwined, the flag of the great mother republic and 
that of the new republic whose natal day they were 
celebrating. They had watched the triumphal proces- 
sion on its way down Obispo street to the palace. They 
had admired General Wood ; had felt a little disappoint- 
ment when they had first caught sight of the small form 
of President Palma, but had later looked into his kindly, 
earnest face and clear, keen eyes, to feel that the new- 
born republic was safe in his hands. It was now near- 
ing the hour of noon and they stood with the great 
throngs outside the palace, awaiting the crowning noon 
hour — all except Edward. Captain John had gained 


304 THE PROPHET OF MARTINIQUE 


admission for one to a place within the palace, whence 
the ceremony of transfer of government could be wit- 
nessed, and had magnanimously insisted that that one 
should be Edward. He himself now stood beside Vio- 
let in the vast throng, his great patriotic heart swelling 
with pride at the deed his country was performing. 

Suddenly a great shout of "‘Cuba lihre!” arose in 
front of them, and a Cuban patriot at their right in 
tattered garments, with the snows of life's winter on 
his head, and the lines of many hardships on his face, 
dropped to his knees in that vast throng and, lifting his 
face alight with a great joy, while a tear rolled down 
his furrowed cheek, thanked the Lord for that hour 
that was to see Cuba free. Then he prayed the Lord's 
blessing on the country that had been Cuba's friend and 
savior. Captain John elbowed his way to the old man, 
and his voice was a little unsteady as he said, ‘T am an 
American. I want to tell you that we share to-day in 
your joy in Cuba free." 

The old man replied, ‘‘God bless your country. It 
has done more — " 

But the rest of his answer was lost in the mighty 
shout of that vast throng as, just at that moment, when 
the clock was pointing to the hour of twelve. General 
Wood lowered the LFnited States flag and then, assisted 
by General Maximo Gomez, the people's hero, raised in 
its place on the palace the flag of the new republic. 
When first the folds of that banner so dear to Cuban 
hearts, that banner dyed with the blood of Cuban pa- 
triots, and perfumed with the tears of Cuban dames, 


CUBA LIBRE 


305 


floated out to the breeze, a momentary hush fell on that 
mighty gathering, and then, just as the warships of 
many nations were firing a salute to the new republic, 
from thousands of throats went up a shout, in which 
two glad cries commingled: ^‘Cuba lihreT and *^Viva 
Estados Enidos!” 

It was late afternoon. Edward had been telling with 
enthusiasm of the impressive ceremony in the palace, 
when General Wood, representing the United States, 
formally handed over the government of Cuba to 
President Palma. 

‘‘It was a noble deed!” said his father. “It is un- 
precedented in the history of the world! I wonder,” 
musingly, “if it ushers in a new era, when might does 
not make right. Hear this. It is President Palma’s 
telegram to President Roosevelt : 

“‘The government of the island having been just 
transferred, I, as chief magistrate of the Republic, faith- 
fully interpreting the sentiments of the whole people of 
Cuba, have the honor to send you and the American 
people testimony of our profound gratitude and the as- 
surance of an enduring friendship, with wishes and 
prayers to the Almighty for the welfare and prosperity 
of the United States.’ ” 

“And I assure you,” said Captain John warmly, “that 
all true Americans would rather have the gratitude and 
prayers of the Cuban patriots than to own all the West 
Indies, if that ownership carried with it any injustice.” 

Through all Edward’s narrative and the ensuing 


3o6 the prophet OF MARTINIQUE 

conversation, Dr. LaTerette, standing with Heloise at 
a little distance, had been watching Edward’s face. 
Half to himself he quoted, “Clothed and in his right 
mind!” Then turning to Heloise he said, “Your 
brother has the most beautiful face I have ever seen. 
Something in the way his hair waves back from his 
brow and the exquisite curves of his sensitive mouth 
have always made me think of a picture of Mozart I 
have seen.” 

As he spoke, a gleam of sunset light fell athwart the 
fair brow and yellow waving hair, and blended with 
the smile on Edward’s face that was in itself a lighting 
up of the face, as he said in his old, soft tones, “I am 
a Cuban patriot ; and I should like to live here. I have 
talked it over with Violet, and we have concluded, since 
we are orphaned of our own country, to choose Cuba.” 

And to him, in his quiet home in Cuba, (May all his 
hopes for the new republic be realized!) and to her 
of the great violet eyes, his wife, this volume is lovingly 
dedicated. 











16 UUD 










